


The Abbey Girls At War

by Corinnathepoet



Category: Abbey Girls - Elsie J. Oxenham
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 45
Words: 61,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29930226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corinnathepoet/pseuds/Corinnathepoet
Summary: It is September 1939, and war is about to be declared. How will it affect the families from the Abbey? In the tradition of L.M. Montgomery's "Rilla of Ingleside", this story follows the families through the dark days of World War II. The characters belong to Elsie. J. Oxenham, and I owe her and her other interpreters a debt of gratitude for a lifetime of happy reading. There is a major character death, randomly chosen. The action takes place after my own sequel to "Two Queens at the Abbey", "The Garnet Links", but can be read independently.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ambrose, lay brother of the Grace Dieu Abbey, spends his last days in the peace and solitude of the Abbey, and recalls the past.

Ambrose sat for a time each night in the silent space that had been the great church of Grace Dieu Abbey. Nigh on seventy years ago, the soldiers had come with their crowbars and axes, the plundering villagers with their ladders, swarming over the roof to pull away all the lead they could find. There were no walls now, around the cruciform shape of the great church, and the rising wind seemed the echo of a chant. All of the roof had fallen, and the beautiful flooring was covered deep with leaves and silt, then more leaves and silt, and sometimes even snow. Not for anything would he sweep away that blessed covering. The very stones were still being stolen for walls and buildings. By and by, there would be almost nothing to mark that the church had been there at all, but for the artist’s drawing that hung now at the Manor.  
He was the last. Some of the lay brothers had taken employment with nearby farmers, but most were dead, and the monks, all twenty-four of them, were gone to France, by the dubious grace of Henry VIII, to seek refuge among their brethren. Some he had seen again when he roamed that land, but that was sixty years ago. There would be none left now.  
Only he, and the souls of those who slept beneath the cloister garth, or deep below in the secret chamber where the tomb of Abbot Michael lay forgotten, were witness now to the small lingering gentle signs of wild life within the Abbey, the birds, the flowers, the grass and herbs and fish. Squirrels, foxes, cats, a badger once. Soon, the Abbey would be known and loved by no living soul.  
Had the great comet foretold the destruction that surely came?* The monks had watched the great long star, the sign of the Lord, for ten nights, that August of 1531, fearful of its portent. Many had begun to plan to leave even then, after seeing it from high on the hills at the top of the Monks’ Path. He had then been but a fifteen-year-old boy, fresh from France, an apprentice goldsmith come to ply his craft.  
The gentry who had bought the Abbey as an accessory to their new manor house, the Abingers, had no love for it, for they were Protestants. Old Farmer Edwards had use of the buildings now. At least, most of them were still standing. That was something to be thankful for.  
Ambrose thought with some small satisfaction of the few things he hidden before the soldiers and new owner came. Sacred things, the manuscripts deep in the crypt, and vestments, dropped into the holes where new trees were planted, late at night. He had worked long with beeswax to make the cloth proof against water, so that the Abbot’s burse and vestments should lie safely. He had twisted the dried leaves of the flag iris to make a strong cord, and tied the package tight. He and some of his brothers had carted the great bell laboriously to the barn, and hauled her by block and tackle onto the oak floor held by strong rafters, where, God willing, she would be found by kinder hands one day. The other bell, buried deep below a hillside, was hidden from eyes that would see wealth only in her metal. Let her sleep.  
The farmer’s small animals, and little creatures of the night, were grateful for the new drinking bowl but never noticed the carvings of serpents that wound around it. Ambrose smiled to see their trust. Maybe one day some curious child of the farm would guess its true purpose, and just possibly, restore it to a new church.  
Jehane’s blessed memory was not to be sullied by unkind or vicious hands, her legacy buried deep in the crypt. He had told her story as best he could. The plate and serving vessels from the altar, objects almost too sacred for him to touch, he had reverently placed in that same hiding place, where, if they were never found, at least desecration had not been wrought on them.  
His work for the Abbey was done. Now, his work was to keep soul and body together until that final day when he would go to meet the Lord, and perhaps, be vouchsafed a glimpse of the angel Jehane. Just a glimpse would be enough for eternity, for she was already in his heart.  
Until then, he had his small ones for company, his garden, and the kindly family of the Manor who would let him till a little ground, and raise a few white chickens. The fish stream would still give him food, and the herbs that were now going wild in the old herb garden outside the gatehouse could still sweeten a brace of rabbits from a generous hunter. He would finish his diary. There was no other place or work for him now.  
Sometimes, his Peregrine, with his little bride, the Lady Katharine, gentle daughter of the Manor, would walk through the quiet groves of the Abbey grounds, her white veils blowing in the light breeze. Early this year, she and her maids came dancing to the gatehouse garden, gathering flowers for their garlands on Maie Day. The French names came more easily to him now: jonquilles, campanule, narcisse, giroflée, maie, lavande, violettes, bluets and capucins, pensées, yellow primevére and gold soucis. The gay little bouton d’or, and the herbe aux gueux.  
He twisted wreaths of honeysuckle vine to fit their pretty heads, with hands that had once worked gold. The maids wove the flowers through to make the garlands, then wore them proudly, laughing. Wearing their festive headgear, they sang and danced upon the garth. A sacrilege, true, but one he thought the Lord would pardon now that none worked or worshipped there. Surely the Lord loved music too.  
Sometimes, at night, a white owl would swoop silently through the air, below the canopy of stars. Betimes, he thought he saw a figure walking through the gatehouse garden, white veils flowing. Or was it a trick of the mist? And, sometimes, he would hear the laughter of children, as they seemed to dance to a tune played on a little pipe by some minstrel. A singer’s voice once carolled a tune he knew not, through the quiet space, the old story of the fox and grapes. Was he dreaming? The waking days were slow and held pain. Sleep, and dreams, were very sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Halley’s Comet, at that time unnamed, was observed over Earth throughout August of 1531.


	2. Haven at the Abbey - September 1, 1939

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Abbey families prepare for evacuees.

Lady Jen Marchwood was on the committee of the local Women’s Institute group and was keenly involved in the planning for the Buckinghamshire response to the request to place child evacuees.  
“The Women’s Institute have pledged that every member outside the major cities will take evacuees. I think we can take at least four; with Andrew and Tony at school in Yorkshire, the younger children can share rooms, and that will leave me with room for at least that many. How many could you take, Joy?”  
Jen, Joy Quellyn’s next-door neighbour and one of their oldest friends, had invited Joy and her husband, Sir Ivor Quellyn, for morning tea with her and her husband, Sir Kenneth Marchwood.  
“Miss Raven has phoned to say that there is a boarding school that needs to relocate all their students,” said Joy. “Ivor and I discussed it - we thought we could probably take about twenty, including teachers. They will be placed in the house we used to use as a vacation home for tired workers, and the Music School. Betty expects to be called up, if they will take her. She still has some side effects from that injury and operation of years ago. Jandy Mac and Alec will help her look after the school students for the time being, and the school’s own kitchen and cleaning staff will come.”  
“They specialise in music, apparently, so that would work out very well. With the twins at school in Wycombe during the day, the big hall here can be used for classes. And there is the tithe barn as well. It may make quite a good schoolroom – even the Abbey might be used. I’m not sure it will be open to visitors. Although, Joan may feel we should keep it open, as it was during the last war.”  
“It won’t be the first time you have hosted a school,” laughed Jen. But laughter was not quite so frequent with her now. “Did we ever imagine ourselves having these kinds of conversations when we were young? How little the first war seemed to affect us. We had our Queens, our dancing, our school lives, and lived in a kind of safe haven.”  
“Yes, Joan, Aunty and I were at the Abbey for most of the first war,” said Joy. “I even used to go for long tramps on my own, and no-one seemed to think it was potentially dangerous, even in war time. Of course, there were mainly Land Army girls working the fields. The farmers who used to give me lifts on their carts were old enough for me to run away from, if I had to,” she added mischievously. “Not that I ever had to,” she said hastily at an anxious, enquiring look from Ivor. “But seriously, I never saw a zeppelin or aeroplane, and we didn’t have any bombing in this area at all.”  
“I hope we are that lucky this time,” said Jen. The thought of their homes, or the Abbey, being bombed was almost incomprehensible to her. And as for invasion… Jen’s thoughts shied away from that unthinkable possibility.  
“I remember hardly ever seeing a young man until after the war. And whether to dance or play cricket was the height of my concerns!” said Jen, her busy life now full of things other than dancing and cricket. Her husband chuckled as he remembered the outcome of those games of cricket.  
“But you know,” said Jen more thoughtfully, “I once said something to Maribel, when Tony was little and we first met her. I told her that I thought the things I used to do, like opening bazaars, were a waste of time when there were bigger things to do in the world. I think I used the words ‘futile’ and ‘footling! I would give anything now for a simple life of bazaars and carnivals. It would mean people were celebrating the simple rituals of harvest and seasons, instead of preparing for war.” Jen knew that life now was deadly serious, and her actions in the Women’s’ Institute likely to mean the saving of lives.  
For today, a telegram had gone to the district coordinators, and then to each district service: Operation Pied Piper was starting! Throughout the country, the Women’s Voluntary Service was swinging into action, and every household was asked to take evacuees from the cities – children in the care of their teachers. The great fear had been realised: Poland was invaded, and Britain was pledged to assist her. If Germany did not withdraw within two days, Great Britain and her allies would be at war with Germany.  
“The Pixie rang out of the blue to say she is coordinating some of the evacuations of children from the East End district where she has classes. I hope we end up with some of ‘her’ children,” said Jen, mother of nine herself, but eager to extend hospitality to those who were leaving their homes in the vulnerable cities. “She suggests we organise dancing classes for the evacuees; she is worried they are going to feel very strange away from their homes and parents. Some of them are so little! I’ve sounded out Littlejan about starting some classes; she was quite keen. Elizabeth and Margaret can help her too.”  
“I believe children will be sent home with messages to go to railway stations – and their parents will be left behind,” said Ivor. Many of the children of musicians in his orchestra were likely to be thus affected. He had grown to understand better the impact of separation on parents and children, and could hardly bear himself to be apart from his little sons and daughter, and Joy’s twins from her first marriage.  
“Oh, the poor little things,” said Jen compassionately. “And the poor parents. It is one thing for children to go to boarding school, where we know the staff and the surrounds; but imagine sending your children away, when you have no idea where they will end up, or with whom. We must just make ‘our’ children as happy as we can.” And it was on her knees, later that week, that Lady Marchwood welcomed four little children, tired and frightened, into her arms and home and heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jen Marchwood to Maribel Ritchie in “The Abbey Girls Play Up” Chapter XXIII
> 
> “But sometimes, Bel, I do feel the things I do are so futile! There are such big things to be done in the world, and here am I opening bazaars and giving away prizes and taking the chair at the Women’s Institute. It seems so footling…’  
> “And that's how she receives my shy little cravings for a larger career!”... “But when it’s my own – when it’s sales of work and garden shows, not writing books and teaching – it does look like a waste of time."


	3. “We never say no” - Sunday September 3, 1939

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin Quellyn is taken aback when the plans for evacuation go awry.

Away at Quellyn, near Porthdinllaen, north of Pwllheli, in a lonely corner of Wales, Rob and Robertina Quellyn were wondering what the next few weeks would bring to their home and friends. Rob knew he was likely to be called upon to join the services. “I don’t know what I can do,” he told his anxious wife, who was known to most as Robin, while her brothers still sometimes called her Robinette. Her real name was a tribute to the old artist, Robert Quellyn, who had left her the property at Plas Quellyn in his will, in memory of his love for her mother in their shared youth.   
“But I feel I must go if called. Ivor has suggested I send my details in to the War Artists Advisory Committee. He said it is a new department – something to do with war art. It might be a good idea.” Rob was a distant cousin of Sir Ivor Quellyn, and his marriage to Robin had brought the Plas Quellyn property back into the family, much to Ivor’s joy.   
“I am concerned about the children out here in this remote place,” said Robin. “It takes such a long time to get anywhere, and being near the coast… does that make us more vulnerable?”  
“The harbour at Pwllheli might attract attention, but I doubt it,” said Rob. “I’m no strategist, but if someone was wanting to invade, I don’t think they would land troops where they had to march ninety miles to Liverpool or two hundred miles to London across rugged country. I tend to think we are safer here than most places. Then again, there is the train line…” At that moment, the phone rang, and Robin went to answer it.   
“That was Jen Marchwood,” said Robin, “to say that the evacuation of children from the cities is starting tomorrow. I said that the local Women’s Institute had been told not to expect any trains to Pwllheli, but Jen warned that there might be some confusion. I think I might go to Pwllheli, perhaps on Sunday, just to make sure? Jen said there will be trains leaving London every nine minutes tomorrow, for the whole day! It’s very handy that Cicely is senior in the WVS* – Jen is able to find out what is happening very quickly. She sends her love to us all.”  
On Sunday morning, Robin drove herself to the nearby railway terminus at Pwllheli, distant by only a few miles over rough and desolate country from Quellyn. There were few people around, and the only activity was a muted early morning bustle of church goers. School was due to start the following week, but, being a Sunday, Robin didn’t expect to see many children around.   
When Robin reached the station, a scene unlike anything she had imagined confronted her. A confusion of small children, dressed in thick coats, each clutching a small bag or case, with tags hung around their necks on string, was being herded by harassed looking women, themselves dressed for travel and looking distinctly weary. There seemed to be no order or sense to what was happening, and definitely no-one in charge.   
Robin parked the car and hurried over to one of the women, who was holding a crying child in her arms while trying to cluster others together outside the station.   
“Where have you come from?” said Robin, to the woman, taking hold as a matter of course of the hands of two of the distressed children.   
“We have just arrived from London. These are the first of the evacuees, but no-one seems to be expecting us,” said the young woman.  
“The first? How many are coming?” said Robin, fearing that there had been some terrible mistake. “The WVS told us – the Women’s Institute - that there were no children coming to Pwllheli.”  
“Well, that’s as may be, but I heard at Euston that there were to be two express trains for Pwllheli from Euston Station, each with two hundred on board, children and teachers,” said the young woman. “There are only twenty of us for Pwllheli on this train. We dropped off children all along the line at villages and towns.”  
“Two hundred each!” gasped Robin. “What on earth…please, wait here,” she said to the young woman. Ushering her and the children grouped around her into a waiting room, Robin dashed out and back up to the station master’s room.   
“Excuse me,’ she said breathlessly to the surprised official. “Do you know that there are four hundred people, mostly children, who have nowhere to go, arriving on trains today? They are evacuees from London.”  
“What?” was the reply. “How do you know this? We were not told of any arrivals.”  
“Neither was the Women’s Institute,” said Robin, “But one of the evacuee teachers says there are two more trains to come. Her train had only twenty people; it is the first of three.”  
“George!” shouted the agitated station master. A man who must be George appeared in the doorway. “Send a telegram post haste to Euston station and ask them if they can verify that two trains are on their way with evacuees. Bring me the answer as soon as you can.”  
“Now, ma’am, take me to these here evacuees, and let’s see what sense we can make of this,” said the Station Master.   
The tired teacher, who had travelled with her school students, confirmed what she had told Robin. “We were all instructed to meet at the station yesterday morning,” she said. “The children had taken home notes from school telling them to be at the station with whatever they could carry, their ration books, and warm shoes and coats. Trains were leaving for every destination away from the south east. My school was directed to Wales, and that is how we ended up here. Groups were dropped off at each station: we are the last. We have been travelling for a long time and haven’t had much to eat.” And Robin and the Station Master both leaped to support her, as the young woman swayed, looking like she might faint.   
“We’ll need to set up a tea and biscuits stand for them,” said Robin. “Oh, so many people coming – and they will all be hungry!”  
‘George’ arrived with the reply telegram, confirming the departure of two trains for Wales, travelling direct to Pwllheli.   
“I’ll call the police station,” said the Station Master. “Ma’am, is there any way you can get the Women’s Institute mobilised? We need homes for these kids and we need ‘em fast. And George, how about you run down to the baker’s and ask for everything they have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WVS – Women’s Voluntary Service  
> https://www.historylearningsite.co.uk/world-war-two/children-and-world-war-two/   
> Four hundred children really did turn up unexpectedly at Pwllheli.


	4. Robin takes charge - September 1939

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin organises villagers to take evacuees

Robin thought for a moment – where was everybody? Then the sound of a bell caught her attention and she turned to look for the spire of the church.   
“Can you spare me some porters, please, Mr. …” – “It’s Potter,” said the Station Master, “Mr. Potter. And you are…?”  
“Mrs Quellyn,” said Robin hastily. The Station Master touched his cap. “Oh Mrs Quellyn, I should have known it was you. Yes, you can have all the porters I have on staff this morning – there should be four of the chaps. Oi! Arthur! Round up the lads and get them here as fast as you can.”  
Robin pulled a note pad out of her handbag, and a pen. She hastily scribbled four notes, directed to the church officials, and handed them to the waiting porters.   
“Could each of you run, or take a bicycle, as fast as you can, to each of the churches in town and give this note to the verger or the vicar? It doesn’t matter if you have to interrupt the service, just go straight up to the verger or vicar and hand them the note. Well, perhaps wait till the end of a prayer, but during a hymn would be a good time. Whatever you do, don’t wait till the end of the service. Now go, please, as fast as you can,” urged Robin.  
The four young porters, each no more than boys, spoke briefly among themselves, then, to Robin’s relief, ran off in four different directions.   
“I have asked the vicars to hold the congregations in the churches until we can get notice to them,” explained Robin. “Hopefully there will be many people there who can organise quickly to be able to take some of the children and their teachers. I know we can take as many as I can fit into my car back to Quellyn. And I think we can organise to take perhaps thirty in the nearby cottages on the farms and villages. Perhaps the local buses can bring them out?”  
“Now, if you and I can go to two churches each and make the appeal, that should make sure we can manage many of the evacuees. I will take these two churches, and you those?” suggested Robin to the willing Station Master, who was greatly relieved at this masterful dealing with the situation.   
“The Police are on their way, too, Mrs Quellyn,” he said. “If you was to write another note, one of they can get to a church as well, so you and I are not running ourselves ragged. I need to get back here to be ready to meet them other trains!”  
Robin addressed the congregation at the Presbyterian Church, when she arrived there a few minutes later. She told the story directly and simply, but finished by reminding them of the motto of the Women’s Institute.   
“Remember everyone, “we never say no”. Do what you can, everyone, with the resources you have, and we will help as much as we can at Quellyn. Please ask for whatever you need.” Her message was repeated in Welsh, for not all villagers spoke English.   
It was the longest speech Robin had ever had to make in public. Faces looked to her, from then on, with increased respect and liking. Young Mrs Quellyn was no longer a newcomer, for it was ten years since she had inherited Quellyn; but she was now truly one of them.  
Thus it was, that within the first half of the morning, the startled inhabitants of Pwllheli were informed of the impending influx of new inhabitants for this remote little town. Telephone lines sang around the district, as farms and remote hamlets were called, and a steady stream of vehicles of all types flowed into the town all day. The normally quiet bus to Porthdinlleyn was packed with the first group of evacuees which Robin had intercepted, and all of them were transported to Quellyn, or Morannedd. The small communities of Edern, Ceidio, Morfa Nevyn and Nevyn prepared to accept even more as they heard of the impending arrival.   
Robin set one of the young porters to make a list of all the visitors, and the houses they would go to, for she was concerned that there needed to be records of where the children were. Hopefully the teachers could help. Those cardboard labels might easily get lost or fall off. Could the children even remember their home addresses? “Some of the Welsh speaking homes may not be able to read the labels. How will the children understand them? Oh, so much to think about,” thought Robin to herself. “And this is happening all over the country, right now!”  
Robin herself left ahead of the bus, and arrived home, early that afternoon, by which time Rob, her husband had become very anxious. Since she had been able to organise a bus, she had not brought children home with her. That would give them some time to prepare.   
“What on earth has kept you?” he said, almost brusque in his concern.   
“Oh Rob,” said his wife, endearing in her swift movement towards him and into his arms. “You would have hated seeing all those children, forlorn and hungry at the station as much as I did. I had to do something to help straight away.”  
“What children?” said Rob, not fully comprehending the situation. Robin had not had time to call him; she knew that whatever she brought back to Quellyn with her could be coped with by her husband and her staff.   
“Where is Mrs Davies?” said Robin, “I need to give her some instructions quickly. They will be here soon. We will have to use Cuthbert and Dick’s rooms, and prepare some of the guest rooms.”  
“Robin, if you don’t sit down for a minute, and tell me what is going on…” said Rob, exasperated by this sudden erratic behaviour in his normally placid wife.   
“I’m sorry Rob,” said Robin, “but if you had seen them…I got to the station and there were at least twenty tired children with a few teachers, standing with their little cases, names on cardboard hung around their necks, who had been travelling all night to get here from London. They were told on Friday to report to the station in the morning, then they were just sent to places they don’t even know the names of. The teachers said two more trains with FOUR HUNDRED children will be arriving later today. We had no idea they were coming. The most recent news from the Women’s Institute was that Pwllheli was not needed for evacuations at this time. You can imagine how stunned I was, and still am, I suppose. I ... I have said we can take quite a lot, Rob,” finished Robin.   
“Ah, I see,” said Rob. “And now we must both find Mrs Davies, to get tea for you, and beds for – is it four hundred children, Robin?”  
Robin laughed weakly, glad to see that Rob was as keen as she was to help, no matter what. “No, only twenty have arrived at the moment. But some of the cottagers are willing to take two each. We thought they should each have a friend and some are family groups. There are some teachers to be accommodated as well. I thought two of them could go to Moranned with four children, and two with us. We will end up with ten children at first, I think. But perhaps more later.”  
“Well, in a place this big, I am sure ten children won’t make much of a difference. Let’s find Mrs Davies together and break the news to her.”  
And so it was that war had come, even to Quellyn.


	5. The Spirit of Andrew - September, 1939

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Marchwood twins are keen to contribute to the war effort.

The declaration of war came and went. Unbelievably, life seemed to go on much as before. School started back, and the Abbey twins, now twin Queens, with their cousin Janice Raymond as Head Girl, travelled to and from school each day in the big car, if it could be spared, with their smaller Marchwood cousins from next door. Janice stayed at the Hall during term time with her mother Joan’s cousin, Joy Quellyn and her family, including daughters Elizabeth and Margaret Marchwood.  
“You older girls may have to start riding your bicycles to school, as Aunty Joan and I did when we were younger. Aunty Jen, Aunt Rosamund and Aunt Maidlin all rode bikes as well – the fuel allowance just may not stretch to taking you back and forth in the big car. When it gets colder, you could ride to the station and take the train to Wycombe. The little ones may have to start having lessons in the village school for a while.”  
“Why don’t we get the carriage out, Mother,” suggested Elizabeth, “instead of leaving it in the stable to rot away?”  
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” said Joy thoughtfully. “But I am not sure if Frost would agree – or if there are even carriage horses available any more. I think there is a governess cart though, that was never used – perhaps you girls could learn to drive it and we could get a little pony to pull it!”  
“Or we could ride ponies to school,” said Margaret, charmed with the idea. “Let’s get Chestnut here for Littlejan and I could ride him!” Their friend Littlejan Fraser’s pony Chestnut was presently at Kentisbury Castle, for he had been a gift to Littlejan from the Earl when she had rendered him and his wife a great deed of care.  
“I don’t think so Margaret, although it would be fun,” said Ivor Quellyn, who had learned to be careful not to be overly critical of Margaret’s enthusiasm. “With the number of vehicles on the roads now and the possibility of planes flying overhead, I am not sure being in an exposed cart or on a pony is a good idea. It’s not quite as safe as it was in Mother’s younger days,” added her stepfather.  
“I can learn to drive, can’t I?” said Janice, listening quietly to the conversation. “I don’t know why I haven’t thought of it before. You were driving when you were eighteen, weren’t you, Aunty Joy?”  
“I was Jansy, you are quite right,” said Joy, using the family pet name for Janice, which she happily tolerated, although she insisted on her full name at school. “But at first, I only drove my smaller car; Eirene, I called her. Frost taught me to drive the big car as well, but I usually took the small one for a year or so. It’s a big responsibility to transport other people in a car or a side car on a motorbike.” Joy spoke from bitter experience.  
Ivor smiled at Janice, with whom he had become great friends. Janice was very reliable and a great help with the mercurial Margaret, and a steady influence on both twins. “Frost would love to teach you to drive, Jansy, I think it an excellent idea. It would be a great help to have another driver in the family.”  
Then Ivor turned to his wife. “Joy, I have heard that there is to be a bus allocated to transport children to and from school in the area. I think that may be a better way for the girls to travel to school. Jen’s younger ones can still go too. That village school is not fit for them to attend, in my view.”  
“What do you mean?” said Joy. “The teachers are qualified and well trained. I am sure they would get a good education there.”  
“Have you had a good look at the place recently?” said Ivor. “The sanitary arrangements are barely acceptable, the roof leaks, and there is no running water. I had a look around when the new teacher arrived last month.”  
Joy was silent, rather shocked at Ivor’s statement. She had assumed the arrangements in the villages nearby were quite adequate. But of course, they were probably the same as they had been, well, when she and Joan, and Aunty Shirley, had moved to the Abbey, back twenty years ago. It had been quite a while before they had had electric light and a useful bathroom in the Abbey, even then.  
“I’m glad you told me, Ivor,” said Joy slowly. “I hadn’t thought to look at that. No-one ever complains and so nothing has ever been done. I would want every school to have at least the basics of light, water and heating, and good sanitation. Perhaps I should talk to Jen about this, and see what the WI can do.”  
“Talking of what we can do, Mother,” said Margaret, “there are heaps of girls talking about not going back to school, and volunteering or joining the services. May we?”  
Joy’s eyes met Ivor’s across the table in mute appeal.  
“We are so proud that you want to do this, Margaret,” said Ivor gravely. “So would your father have been. But we also feel it is important that you finish school, and that means at least one more year after this. Once you have done that, then we can see what the situation is. We all hope this conflict will be over by then.”  
“And you must have your year of being Queens,” urged Joy, deeply grateful to Ivor for his measured response to Margaret’s question, and for giving her a chance to catch her breath. “I was Queen during the first war, and so was Aunty Joan. There was quite a lot we were able to do – fundraising, writing to soldiers, all sorts of things. Have you thought about what the Hamlet Club might do at school to help the war effort? You and Elizabeth would be the leaders in that,” she added, with a sudden glad inspiration.  
“Don’t forget the orchestra, twin,” said Elizabeth, remembering how much Margaret had longed to fill the role of leader, which she would fill again this year.  
“The orchestra!” said Joy. “Why don’t you give fundraising concerts for the village war effort? And to entertain the troops who may be stationed near here? There is so much you can do even while you are at school.”  
“Perhaps you’re right, Mother,” said Margaret. She had had visions of herself in a Land Army uniform, or driving trucks full of soldiers.  
“And what about the Guides and Rangers? I heard that some Guides even worked for MI5 during the first war,” said Ivor rashly.*  
“MI5!” Margaret’s eyes sparkled.  
“I don’t think that is very likely this time,” said Joy hastily. “Anyway, you would have to live in London for that. But Guides and Rangers – yes, they will have important jobs to do even around here. I must talk to the other District Commissioners and make some plans. Girls, why don’t you interview Miss Raven as soon as you get back to school and see what plans she has in mind? I am sure you will feel that you are contributing, once you get organised. And we need well educated people too! You really must finish school.”  
“I wonder if we can learn some useful things in Guides to help. What kinds of things might help?” said Elizabeth. “We know first aid already, but there must be more.”  
“Do you know Morse code, or semaphore, the signalling code using flags?” asked Ivor, deeply interested in how his step-daughters were responding to this challenge, not with fear, but with bravery and imagination. “How like their father and mother they are, they have Andrew’s spirit, and Joy’s courage,” he thought.  
“I know who could teach you, if you don’t know already,” he hinted.  
“Uncle Len,” said the two girls simultaneously. “He could teach the whole Guide troop, couldn’t he? Do you think he would?”  
“It’s only six months since his injury, girls,” cautioned Joy, “but I think he would love to be asked. Why not pop down this afternoon and ask him? Elizabeth, you could phone Littlejan and see if it’s convenient.”**  
Mary-Dorothy came into the room at that moment. “I’ve been thinking about what the Sunday School classes can do to help out,” she said.  
“Mary,” said Joy, “we have been just talking about something similar with Elizabeth and Margaret. They are so keen to do something useful.”  
“That’s wonderful, twins. Tell me what you think of my idea. I was thinking that many of the evacuated children will have no toys, and few clothes with them,” said Mary. “Twins, could you start a movement at school to collect unused toys and clothes, and perhaps we could create some kind of depot in the village hall? What do you think, Joy?”  
“Brilliant, Mary,” enthused Joy. “For starters, between our little crowd, and Jen’s, we should have quite a few things that not used any more, or that we have doubles of. And girls, you are growing so quickly, there must be clothes and shoes that don’t fit any more – we aren’t going to keep them all for Maidie-Rose – it would be years before she will fit into them!”  
“Littlejan says to come at four,” said Elizabeth, coming back into the room. “Mary, we are going to get Uncle Len to teach us semaphore and Morse code!” she said proudly.  
“They may be very useful skills, girls,” said Mary gravely. “But rather dull things like sewing and making jam are going to be useful too. I hope you will be willing to take on some of the less exciting jobs as well as the glamorous ones. Of course, girls can do anything these days. I hope you will find the things that suit your talents best.”  
“Quite right, Mary,” said Joy. “Why even I might learn to sew! But people might prefer my music.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * http://www.scotlandswar.co.uk/guides_and_mi5.html  
> ** Len’s legs and hips were crushed in an accident on the ice in Antarctica, when he saved the life of Dr. Hamilton, in “Two Queens in the Abbey”.


	6. Waving the flag - September 1939

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len Fraser teaches the Marchwood children how to send messages by semaphore.

Elizabeth and Margaret, with Janice as an interested companion, and young Rosemary Marchwood from next door, with her friend Hermione, knocked that afternoon on the door of the Herb Garden, Joan and Len Fraser’s home. The door was opened by Joan, often known as Littlejan, with a wide smile and welcoming words. “Girls, this is such a wonderful idea. Len is quite excited at the thought of teaching you all. And you have come in uniform!”  
Joy had suggested the girls wear their Guide and Brownie uniforms, to make their visit seem official. There were badges for signalling they could achieve, although not ones that many girls had troubled to work towards in recent years. Janice, who was not a guide, wore her school uniform with its Head Girl badge, to reinforce the sense of occasion.  
“We have set you up in the dining room,” said Joan, ushering them indoors, “so that you can take notes if you need to. Did you bring pencils and paper? Oh good,” she said, as each girl mutely held up a small notebook and pencil.  
“Hello everyone,” said Len Fraser, from his invalid chair, as they all trooped into the spacious dining room, with its wide low window looking out into a garden still riotous with colour in the early autumn.  
“I’m really glad the Guides have thought about learning to signalling. You never know when it might come in useful. I thought we might start with semaphore first, and work up to Morse,” he said. “You really need a telegraph to send Morse, or a torch at night, but for semaphore we just need handkerchiefs, or flags.”  
“Dad said we might, so we brought some of Mother’s old Morris handkerchiefs,” explained Margaret, holding up a bunch of large white cloths. “Will these do?”  
“Perfect!” said Len heartily. “Now, does everyone know their right and left hands?” Everyone laughed, although Margaret looked a little self-conscious. She still got muddled sometimes, especially about stage instructions.  
“I want to show you something that your brother Andrew sent me from school,” said Len, nodding in a friendly way towards Rosemary Marchwood. “A friend of his there has a very clever sister, named Nancy, who worked out a way to send messages using semaphore on paper. It even fooled the friend’s father, and he is a commander in the Navy!” Len held up a page from an exercise book, on which were drawn a lot of little figures.  
“It looks like people at a carnival,” said Jansy, “not signalling!”  
“Exactly,” laughed Len, “it doesn’t take much to confuse the enemy if you present information in an unexpected way. Nancy – that’s the name of the sister – uses little stick figures to show semaphore – see how they are waving their arms in different ways? Each wave shows a different letter.”  
“First, we will learn how to do the signals the traditional way, by waving the hankies. Rosemary,” and he smiled at the youngest member of the group, and the shyest, “suppose you stand next to me, and I will tell you what to do?”  
“What if you don’t have any flags or hankies?” said the practical Margaret.  
“Good question… is it Margaret?” said Len, who was getting more expert at identifying which twin was which. Elizabeth would never interrupt. “Sometimes you can use white gloves, or hold a torch in each hand at night,” said Len. “Let’s get started. Is everyone ready?” They all nodded.  
“Now,” he said, as Rosemary stood beside him facing the group, “please take a hankie in each hand, and hold your arms straight down in front of you. Imagine that your right arm, and then your left arm, are going travel in steps around a clock face. Your arms are the minute hand of a clock. Lift up your right arm, just a little out to the side, so that it points diagonally down, half way to having your arm straight out. Your hand is pointing to half way between the 6 and the 9,” Len added, wondering how Rosemary would respond, and hoping his instructions would be clear enough.  
Rosemary carefully followed the instructions, and the others watched on quietly as she arranged her arms in the correct position.  
“Keep your arms straight and strong. Now, everyone, Rosemary has made the letter A,” said Len. “Next, Rosemary, please take your right arm up to be straight out sideways from your shoulder, as if pointing towards 9 on the clock face. That is letter B. Can anyone guess what letter C might be?”  
“Diagonally up?” said Elizabeth.  
“Yes! And then if the arm is straight it up it would be…”  
“D!” they all chorused. Rosemary made each letter in turn, as the others called them out.  
“Correct!” said Len, laughing. “Now, to make E, we keep going around the circle, or clock face, if you like. But you have to swap arms. So, Rosemary, bring your right arm straight down to meet the other arm, and now, please lift your left arm up to the next position on the clock face – diagonally up. That is E.”  
“Why isn’t it the low diagonal again?” said Rosemary.  
“Ah good question,” said Len. “It is the ‘high’ diagonal, between 1 and 2 on the clock. Imagine that we are making the full circle in correct order, from 6 back to 6.” Rosemary nodded, and extended her left arm diagonally upwards.  
Would F be straight out to the left?” asked Hermione, gaining confidence as she learned the movements, and surprised how easy it was to understand.  
“Very good!” said Len approvingly. “Then G is half way down. And that is our first circle of letters complete. Any questions?”  
“Uncle Len, I think it’s rather like music,” said Elizabeth. Len looked up enquiringly. “The musical notes go from A to G,” she said. “So if you remember that A is the start and G is the end, it is easy. Is that right?” she said, now unsure of herself.  
“Well, Elizabeth, if you keep having good ideas like that everyone is going to learn very quickly,” laughed Len. “Now, who can think of some words that use the letters A to G? Let’s get into pairs and practise sending messages using those letters.”  
“Beg, bag, egg,” said Elizabeth promptly.  
“Bad,” laughed her sister Margaret.  
“Bed,” said Hermione, who, after speaking for the first time, was no longer overawed by the kindly man seated in the comfortable invalid chair.  
“That’s enough to start with,” said Len. “write those down, and then try sending them to your partner, and see if she can ‘read’ them. Don’t tell her which word you are making. Let her work it out. It’s best to write the letters down as they come through. Although once you get really skilled, you can ‘read’ a whole word at a time.”  
The girls paired off, with Joan joining Janice, and had a riotous few minutes signalling the words to each other.  
“You all seem to be good at those letters now, but it is helpful to write them down in Nancy’s sign language as well. You could do that at home later. Now, before we try the second circle of letters,” said Len, “we are going to learn one very important letter, because it works a little differently to all the others. Hermione, would you like to help me this time, please?” Hermione stood importantly next to him, her face shining.  
“Girls, which do you think is my favourite letter of the alphabet?” asked Len.  
Everyone thought for a moment; what could it be?  
“Is it J?” said Elizabeth diffidently. “For Joan and John?”  
“Right first time, Elizabeth,” said Len. “And think of all the other important people in your lives who start with J.”  
“Mother is Joy,” said Margaret. “Our middle names are Joy and Joan, too.”  
“And my mother is Joan, my Dad is Jack, and I have brothers John and Jimmy and sisters Jennifer and Jillian. And of course, I am J as well,” laughed Janice.  
“And my mother is Jen, and my middle name is Jane,” piped up Rosemary.  
“I have a little brother John at home,” said Hermione in her quiet voice.  
“And Aunty Maidlin is married to Uncle Jock,” reminded young Joan. “In fact, J is everywhere in the Abbey history – remember the story of Jehane? And I have a sister Janet and mother Janice.”  
“Then there are lots of reasons to remember that J is special,” said Len. “Hermione, I will ask you to show everyone how J is made, and you will see how special it is. Put your right arm straight up. Now what letter is that, please everyone?”  
“D!” they all shouted again.  
“Good! Now, Hermione is going to stretch her left arm straight out to the side, while holding her right arm up. Can you do that please, Hermione?”  
Obediently, Hermione moved her left arm as instructed. “And that is letter J,” said Len.  
“I feel like I am making a J,” said Hermione wonderingly.  
“It looks like a J from here too, Hermione,” said Rosemary, and everyone laughed. “Well, it does,” said Rosemary insistently.  
“Quite right Rosemary, and you will all feel like you are making a J when you try it,” Everyone waved their ‘flags’ and made a J.  
“It does feel like a J,” declared Margaret.  
“But the J movement has one other very important meaning,” continued Len. “Making that letter is how you tell your ‘reader’ that you are sending a message in letters, and not in numbers. So it can mean two things.”  
“When will we learn the numbers, Uncle Len?” said Margaret.  
“Ah, Margaret, you already have,” said Len mysteriously. “At least, from one to seven. Can you guess what they are?”  
Hesitantly, Margaret made the signs for the letters A to G. “Are they the signs for 1 to 7 as well?” she asked.  
“Yes!” said Len, “but you have to make a sign to show that you are using numbers instead of letters. We’ll come back to that later. But just remember, you have already learned eight letters and seven numbers, and we haven’t even had a cup of tea!”  
Janice, Joan’s mother, joined them for afternoon tea, with her husband Alec, the former sailor, who had watched on with amusement from the nearby loungeroom as the girls went through the flag movements. Their plans for a house on the coast were postponed at the moment, since the coast was not likely to be a safe place. So, although they had purchased a house, they were staying in the Music School that Joy had established years ago, for Betty McLean was presently in Scotland with her sister Chris and her children. Janice had insisted to Joy that she already had enough people at the Hall.  
“Len is a natural teacher and very accomplished radio operator,” Alec said quietly to Janice. “I am sure there will be roles for him to play in the coming months. He won’t be satisfied teaching Girl Guides, however important that may prove to be.”  
Startled, Janice turned to him, and spoke in an undertone. “I hadn’t thought that he might be called,” she said. “His injuries are still painful and difficult.”  
“That won’t stop Len, if I know him at all,” said her husband. “Men with his skills are hard to come by. He may well choose to volunteer, once he realises how much he is needed."  
Janice, watching her radiant daughter as Len taught the second set of signals to the eager schoolgirls, wondered if she should prepare her for such an eventuality. Joan was sure that she would have Len by her side throughout the war, as a result of his injuries in the Antarctic early in the year. Had Len given her any clue that he might wish to volunteer? Or was he happy to stay at home? He had certainly earned that right. Janice sighed at the thought of this possibility; she knew Littlejan hoped for a second child. What would the next few months and years bring?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In “Secret Water” by Arthur Ransome, Nancy Blackett of the Amazons sends a message to the Walker children, or Swallows, that reads “Three million cheers”, and Commander Walker passes it to John without realizing what it means. He comments later that Nancy, “that young woman”, should be teaching his recruits.


	7. Music in the Gallery - October, 1939

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maidlin is invited to take part in concerts during the war.

“It’s the phone for you, Maid,” said Jock Robertson to his wife, holding the hand of one twin daughter, and with John Paul on his hip. “They said the Concert Committee of the National Gallery.”  
“Thank you,” said Maidlin, shaking back her long black hair which she had just brushed and was about to plait and wind about her head. “What an early call, and what on Earth is the Concert Committee?”  
Maidlin listened intently to the speaker, made a few replies, then turned to Jock when she had hung up, her face glowing with warmth and pride.  
“There are to be concerts in London every weekday! Each afternoon, in the National Gallery. Kenneth Clark and Myra Hess are organising as many performers as they can, and I have been asked to sing, once a month at least, or more often, if they need me, and to bring an accompanist! I would like to do it, Jock. The concerts are to have ticket prices that are fairly low so as many people as possible can afford to go. I would feel like I was contributing in some way.”  
“I suppose there isn’t much risk at the moment, with this Phoney War,” replied her husband thoughtfully. “We could leave the children at home with Anne and Nurse Honesty, and get in some extra help, and drive up together.”*  
“Would you come with me?” said Maidlin, a smile breaking on her face.  
“Well of course,” said Jock, “I can’t bear to miss any concert you are in, and perhaps I could help with page turning or accompaniment if necessary. They might even need Violetta one day, although she needs some practice.”  
“Joy told me that there are quite a few musicians, artists, and authors moving into the area around Amersham. She has met some of them and she and Ivor attended a talk at what they call “The Music Studio’. Some of their Paris and American acquaintances live there too. Isn’t it odd how creative things can happen, even in war time?” mused Maidlin.  
“Do you remember how we used to talk about making the Pallant a centre for struggling students and musicians? Perhaps we should put the word around that if anyone knows of someone needing help, we may be able to assist? I know we both love our quiet life, but in times like these we have to help if we can,” said Jock. “These concerts are part of that. In fact, on the subject of helping out, Maid, there is something we need to discuss later.” But Maidlin was distracted by the twins coming in with their nurse, and so the discussion Jock had suggested, about the war work he was asked to do, was postponed for some time.  
Maidlin rang Joy to tell her about the invitation. “The National Gallery concerts have been initiated by Kenneth Clark and Myra Hess, Joy, and they hope to make them an institution in London. They will be held each weekday afternoon in the Gallery. I think they have moved all the exhibits out. I’m so proud to be asked.”  
“Maid, what a wonderful opportunity,” said Joy, wishing to encourage her first ‘daughter’, despite the anxiety she felt. Joy knew about the paintings and sculptures; there had been a flurry of activity in Wales, and Rob Quellyn, to his delight, had been asked to assist with the preparation of suitable secret locations to house the nation’s precious collections.  
“Thank you, Joy. I knew you would understand. They are hoping the concerts will be popular, but that remains to be seen. I suppose if no-one goes after a while, they will be cancelled.** There has been some bombing activity this month, but since it doesn’t usually start till dark, it’s considered to be quite safe to have afternoon concerts.”  
Joy shivered. “Don’t talk about bombing Maid, just travel safely and enjoy being in front of an audience again. They will love you. What do you plan to sing?”  
And in a happy discussion about repertoire, Joy was able to conceal her dread.  
Joy turned with a sigh to her day’s business, when Maidlin rang off the telephone. Today she had her weekly meeting with the teachers from the school which was boarding at the Music School and holiday home. The students and teachers were quite self-contained, but just occasionally there were things that needed discussion and decision.  
Why was it that she could not hear Maidie’s plans without anxiety? Was it because of losing Andrew? Every time Maidie travelled, or drove a car, she was seized with fear of losing her. Yet she never felt that about Rosamund or Jen, or even Joan. Was it something to do with Maidlin herself, or more to do with Joy? Unused to such introspection, Joy decided to talk about it with Jen, her most sane and sensible friend, who had known Maidlin as long as she had. Could Jen unravel these complex feelings for her?  
At the first opportunity, Joy tackled her friend. “Why do I worry so about Maidlin, Jen?” she said. “I could never even contemplate her doing things on her own when she was younger. Remember how she had to run away from me to have a life of her own, and showed us all how capable she was. But then we fell back into seeing her as somehow incapable of doing things on her own – at least, I did.”  
“It’s true, old chap, that you have always looked on Maidlin as a baby,” said Jen thoughtfully. “I remember Ruth asking me to have a word with you about calling her ‘infant’ and other diminutives. She didn’t like it and neither did Maidlin. But it goes deeper than just names.”  
“Think back to when Maidlin came into your life, Joy. Joan had actually got married and left on the very day before you were asked to take Maidlin on, and Rosamund too! Aunty Shirley had had her first stroke, and was still weak, and I wasn’t much help, still a kid myself. It’s no wonder you felt responsible for her, and that you had to look out for her. Then when you lost Andrew, only two years later, well, she was still on a par with the twins as your responsibility. The twins had you, and Kenneth and I, and Joan and Jack. Maidlin had no one but you! Why, you even had to tell her when her father died.”  
“But what about Jock Robertson?” said Joy. “Don’t you think I should feel that his care for her should replace mine?”  
“What mother ever truly gives up her child?” said Jen. “When Elizabeth or Margaret marries, do you think you will cease to have concern for them?” Joy shook her head.  
“So I really see myself as Maidlin’s mother? Is that all it is?” she said.  
“Is that all?” retorted Jen. “If what you feel for Maidlin is anything like what I feel for Rosemary and Katharine, and Barbara, and all my boys, then I know it to be the most consuming feeling of all. We can’t live their lives, we can’t hold them back, but we fear every day what might happen to them. Especially now as they have to make their ways in such a perilous time. Soon, Andrew may be fighting for his life – and I know that Maidlin risks hers every time she drives into the city. And that even their house is on a flight path for bombers.”  
“Joy, you joined the community of mothers the day you took Maidlin into your home, whether you knew it or not. It’s no wonder you fear for her every day; why, it would be strange if you didn’t.”  
“I was even afraid for her having twins,” said Joy quietly. “She’s not a big bouncing thing like you or Rosamund. Why, even I was in danger having twins, and Maidie is only half of me in size.”  
“Joy, darling, we have all been so lucky in our births. But let’s be honest – your mother died, and Maidie’s. No mother, or motherless child, can forget that birth is not always easy, or joyful.”  
Jen hugged her friend, who by now had tears in her eyes. “You can’t live Maidie’s life for her, but you have given her everything she needs to live it well, herself. That’s all any of us can ever hope for.” And, comforted, Joy went home with a happier heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The period from September 1939 to May 1940 had relatively low levels of hostile activity, and an American senator dubbed it “the Phoney War”. Churchill named this period the “Twilight War.”  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phoney_War  
> **The concerts in the National Gallery were so popular that queues often formed around the block to gain entry.


	8. The Beech Trees  - March 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joy and Jen mourn the loss of their gardens, and Jen is interested in Benedicta. Rachel has enlisted: who will be the new Abbey Guardian?

“They are wanting to take some of our trees. And all the gardens and lawns are being dug up for potatoes. They are calling it “Dig for Victory” which is supposed to make us feel proud and happy. But I can’t bear to think that we will lose some of our beech trees. I will have to go a different way now to the village,” said Joy, reading the latest message from the War Office addressed to Sir Ivor and Lady Quellyn. “It makes me wonder if the countryside will ever be restored to what it was before the war. I used to know every path, and hedge and field. Now I hardly recognise it.”  
“I believe the wood is to be used for aeroplane parts and tent pegs,” said Ivor. “But there are some places in the Chilterns where the trees are being left as camouflage. Maybe some of our trees might be saved for that reason, given the number of buildings and tents they plan to put up among them, and in the Manor park. But I know what you mean. Some of those trees must be hundreds of years old. It will take that long for the forest to be restored, if ever.”  
“Have you noticed how busy the big furniture factory in Wycombe is?” said Joy. “It is quite near the school, and there are so many workers coming and going every day. Surely it can’t be furniture they are still making!”  
“All sorts of places are being used for new purposes. Rosamund and Geoffrey have several officers staying in the castle now; the Nissan Huts are being erected in the castle grounds for soldiers,” responded Jen, Lady Marchwood, whose own gardens next door at the Manor were at that very moment being ploughed over for growing vegetables. Jen had come over to avoid having to watch her beloved white flower border being desecrated.  
“Much of the country is being transformed,” said Ivor. “But it has to happen; our food resources have been disrupted and we have to be self-sufficient. The kitchen garden here is being greatly expanded. I might even go out and have a dig myself. When I am not at work…” he broke off abruptly. There were things he could not now talk about to anyone.  
“I am so glad we have chickens and pigs,” said Jen. “We are raising batches of chickens, as many as possible, so each villager can have a few hens. And our little milch cows keep on producing as well. Fresh eggs, butter and cream, such a luxury. We have even made some cheese from our goats’ milk. It’s delicious!”  
“Good for you, Jenny Wren. But I wonder if bluebells will ever bloom in these woods again,” sighed Joy, gazing out onto the grounds of the Hall, now so different from the serene bucolic scene that used to greet her. Horse drawn ploughs operated by energetic Land Girls were working up and down the lawn, ploughing up the green grass, and others were digging over flower beds, pulling out dahlias and salvias. Camouflaged vehicles were parked on the driveway, and tents were being erected within the grove of trees to house soldiers. Only by the greatest good luck had it been decided the Hall and the Manor were not suitable for housing officers, and the families allowed to remain.  
“We dug up our roses and put them in pots, hoping we might be able to plant them out some time,” said Jen. “But the foxgloves and other medicinal herbs are very useful. Benedicta says the pharmacies need all they can get for medicine production. Her friend Daphne Gilmour, whom she calls Dimsie, has been instructing her in the best herbs to grow.”*  
“How did they meet?” said Joy. “Has Benedicta known her for some time? Or was it through school?”  
“I believe their acquaintance is quite recent. Damaris introduced them. Damaris and Brian have gone in for herbs in a big way at Heather Garth, under Mrs Gilmour’s guidance. She and her family live in her old family home on the west coast of Scotland, near a loch. Apparently, she has a huge commercial herb garden, that has been there for generations,” explained Jen. “Did you meet Rosamund Garth at Damaris’s wedding? She and Mrs Gilmour were at school together, down in Dorset.”  
“Yes, I did, and thought how like our Rosamund she was to look at – pretty, golden hair, although not as strong a personality as our Countess. Beautifully dressed! So the influence on Benedicta has come from Mrs Gilmour! The Abbey and Gatehouse gardens are full of herbs now, and so is Littlejan’s garden,” said Joy.  
“I must have a look at that garden again next time I visit Littlejan. And I would like to meet Dimsie Gilmour, if she visits. I love to talk to anyone who lives near the moors. Has Benedicta’s doctor Tom visited again?” asked Jen. “I liked him very much.” Benedicta had met young Dr. Tom Dudgeon on a holiday to Norfolk with her brother and his wife Gail, and the friendship had continued for quite some months.**  
“You can ask her yourself,” said Joy. “I asked her and Rachel to come by for tea this afternoon. They should be here any minute.”  
The two close friends came in, to greetings from all. Rachel, the Abbey Guardian, and Benedicta, the Abbey gardener, were considered indispensable at the Abbey, but everyone was concerned that, as young unmarried women, they were likely to be required for the war effort.  
So it was not with complete surprise that they all saw for the first time the uniform worn proudly by Rachel. Her divided grey skirt, grey jacket piped with blue and jaunty cap would become a familiar sight on all public transport in the coming years, but for now it was a real novelty.  
“I am proud to introduce London Transport’s latest recruit, Conductor Ellerton!” said Benedicta with a flourish.  
“Oh Rachel, I am so proud of you,” said Mary and Jen together. Mary had been sitting quietly in her own brown and gold sitting room, reading a worrying letter from her sister Biddy, and had come down to join the family on seeing Benedicta and Rachel crossing the driveway on their way from the Abbey.  
“I received my conscription notice a month ago,” said Rachel quietly, “and this was one of the suggested options for approved work. I used to know London well so I thought it would be quite a good sort of work to do. And I have applied for the routes around here; I might even get the school bus! But if not, I can live at Kentisbury House again, with the housekeeper; the Countess suggested that.”  
“Well done, Rachel, we are proud of you,” said Joy. “I know Joan will be sad you can’t be here all the time, but the Abbey will always be your home as long as you want it.”  
Mary sat by Rachel, as tea was served. All the Abbey folk knew what a sacrifice it was for Rachel to give up her pleasant quiet life in the Abbey, which was now her home. “I hope you may be able to go on with your writing, Rachel dear,” said Mary. “People need stories of hope and kindness just as much as ever. Think of all these young girls; they need a vision of a happy future to make the present bearable, and to encourage them to keep their spirits up.”  
“Thank you, Mary,” said Rachel. “I had been wondering if it was worth trying to write during this time, but I see that it is. I will try, but I don’t expect to have much spare time. One good thing though, I get free tickets for all transport systems, so I can use public transport to go wherever I like.”  
Mary laughed, “That is a silver lining indeed! Make good use of it, Rachel, we hope to see you here often.”  
Rachel then addressed Joy and Jen. “I have written to Mrs Raymond about the Abbey. That’s the main thing that worries me; who can take over the guiding in the Abbey, even though it is likely to be less in demand now? But I am sure a solution will present itself. You always say the Abbey finds its own interpreter.”  
“Don’t worry about that, Rachel. Your duty is clear and Joan will be proud that you have answered the call,” said Joy.  
“I probably remember enough to take people through occasionally,” said Jen Marchwood happily. “Or I can train up my small band of youngsters to the task!”  
Tea interrupted the discussion, and Jen moved closer to Benedicta for a more private chat.  
“Benedicta, has your friend Tom been able to visit again?” asked Jen, deeply interested in Benedicta’s possible plans.  
Jen had always suspected a warmer attachment to Brian Grandison, on Benedicta’s part, than her pride had allowed her to acknowledge.*** He had certainly appeared to take even pleasure in the company of both Damaris and Benedicta in the early days of his courtship of Damaris, and had told Mary that it was Benedicta he came to see, if only in jest. Benedicta had stoutly denied any attachment on her part, but Jen had occasionally caught wistful expressions on her face as Damaris charmed Brian with her energy and beauty. A new love would be wonderful for Benedicta, if it were to come.  
“No,” said Benedicta, composedly, “but I heard from him quite recently. He has a motor boat now and enjoys taking it out on the Broads. He has such a busy medical practice there. He sends good wishes to you all.”  
“Not giving anything away,” thought Jen to herself. “No matchmaking for you, Lady Marchwood.”  
Aloud, she said, “He is always welcome here, Benedicta,” receiving a small smile and murmured thanks for her efforts.  
“Who will show the Abbey to people, now that Rachel is working? I didn’t like to let Rachel know yesterday that it may be difficult to find a guide,” said Joy to Mary-Dorothy at breakfast, as the twins and Janice discussed some school issues. “I wonder if Joan would mind if we closed it to visitors?”  
“Oh, Aunty Joy, Mother would hate that!” said Janice, overhearing. Joy turned to her, startled, and Janice hurriedly explained. “Sorry, Aunty, I don’t mean to interrupt. But Mother, like you and all of us, sees the Abbey as sanctuary. If people can’t come to feel its atmosphere and serenity now, then where will they find it? Let people keep coming to the Abbey,” she pleaded. “Mother herself used to show people around during the first war.”  
“I know, and I understand how Joan will feel. But who will show it to people during this war, Jansy?” said Joy. “Rachel won’t be here often, Benedicta has the gardens, and may enlist herself, so who is left? I can’t do it, nor Jen, as much as she would like to. She has her hands full with her own family and a house full of evacuees.”  
Mary watched in quiet amusement. She could see where Joy was leading with these questions, and, knowing Janice, was sure she would rise to the occasion. But she could see that Joy meant the suggestion to come from Janice herself.****  
“Could I do it?” said Janice. “If we only opened on weekends, or possibly evenings – I am sure Mother would be happy with that – then I can study there and show people around if I hear the gatehouse bell. I have already done it plenty of times. Why, I even showed the President and Dickon around. And Elizabeth and Margaret might like to help sometimes too, if they have time.”  
“I don’t see why not,” said Joy slowly, “but you must ask your mother and father what they think about it. I don’t want you to prejudice your studies. Thank you Jansy, that takes a big load off my mind.”  
“If Jansy has some times when she is unavailable, could I help?” said Mary. “I know the stories quite well too, and I can’t be any older than your aunt was, Joy, when she was caretaker.”  
“Oh Mary-Dorothy, what a kind offer! Thank you so much,” chorused Janice and Joy together.  
“Bravo, Jansy and Mary,” said Jen, when the story of the new Abbey Guardians was related to her. “I helped to teach you the stories of the Abbey myself – with you as Abbey Guardians, our visitors will have excellent guides. Thank you both, from me too, and I am sure Joan will be thrilled to know her own Abbey Girl is guiding people through her Abbey.”  
Visitors to the Abbey the following weekend were greeted by a composed and knowledgeable girl with beautiful bronze hair, and there was no-one to tell them that the story of the Abbey Girls had begun many years ago, with a visit by some school girls, when they too were greeted by another bronze-haired girl.*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * See my previous story, “The Garnet Links”. Tom Dudgeon is a character first met in “Coot Club” by Arthur Ransome.  
> ** Dimsie Gilmour is a much-loved character from the Dimsie series by Dorita Fairlie Bruce.  
> *** See “Dancer from the Abbey” by Elsie J. Oxenham.  
> **** Joy echoes Gilbert Blythe, waiting for daughter Rilla to suggest she care for the war baby she has brought home to Ingleside, in “Rilla of Ingleside”. Thanks to L.M. Montgomery for the spirit of these words.  
> ***** In “The Abbey Girls” Joan, Janice’s mother, showed Cecily and her friends around the Abbey, the first time they met. I have paraphrased Elsie J.’s own words here, from “Maid of the Abbey”, when she describes the twins doing gym movements on the cloister garth under Belinda Bellanne’s instruction.


	9. From beneath the trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soldiers find a hidden package beneath one of the beech trees - what can it be?

A ring at the doorbell disturbed the family at supper one evening the following week. A subdued conversation at the door took place, before Mary, who had answered the door, returned carrying a package.   
“The sergeant in charge of the troops who have been felling the beech trees asked to bring you this, Joy. He says they dug it up from among some of the roots of one of the larger trees, and he felt it should come to the owner of the house.”  
With an exclamation, Joy rose to her feet. So many Abbey treasures had been uncovered by chance in recent years. Could it be possible that the destruction of her beloved trees had resulted in a new discovery? That would help to ease the pain of that desecration, and give a happier turn of thoughts.  
Mary hastily spread newspapers on a table in the great hall, while members of the family finished the remains of their supper and then all clustered around. Richard, David and Maidie-Rose had never been present at any of the previous Abbey discoveries, and even Ivor was excited at what they might have found.   
“Wait,” said Joy, remembering previous occasions when Abbey treasures had been revealed. “We can’t be the only ones to see this for the first time, whatever it is. Jen or Joan, at least, should be here too. Elizabeth, could you ring Aunty Jen please and ask her to come over? Tell her we have a discovery, but don’t know what it is.”  
Jen gave one of her old shrieks as Elizabeth told her the news. “Right, I’ll come over straight away,” she said. “Some of the children might like to come too. And Ken of course!”  
Within less than half an hour, a crowd had clustered in the hall to see what it was the soldiers had found. Jen and Ken had joined Joy and Ivor and their family, as well as Rosemary, Katharine, and Mike Marchwood. The younger children had protested loudly but been assured they could come tomorrow to see the new things, and had stayed at home with their nurses. After all, the find might just be a bundle of old newspapers!  
“What if this is something really special?” said Jen thoughtfully, gazing at the pile of hessian in which the package had been wrapped by the soldiers. “There is an expert that Joan employs to come down and advise on preserving the Abbey documents and relics. Perhaps we should check with her about opening the package?”  
Ten disappointed faces greeted this question. “Do you mean we can’t open it at all, Mother?” said Rosemary. “We’ve all rushed over for nothing?”  
“Well, let’s at least take it out of the bag the soldiers used. But if it looks fragile at any moment, we stop. Alright, Joy?” said Jen, concerned to ensure the package, whatever it was, was not damaged by their curiosity. Of course, she was as keen as Rosemary to see the contents.   
Reverently, Joy took the package out of the hessian wrapping, which Mary took and folded. Nothing was thrown away these days. No doubt the soldiers would have another use for it!  
The package was also seemed to be made of heavy wrapping, of a very dull brown, covered in remnants of soil and bits of lichen. “Thank goodness you thought of newspaper, Mary,” said Ivor.   
There was an old piece of very ancient twine, made of twisted lengths of what looked like grasses, tied around the package.   
“Let’s be archaeologists, everyone,” said Jen. “Margaret, could you fetch a dustpan and brush please so we can clean off the soil? And Ivor, I think you have a camera? Why don’t we take photographs during the process?”  
Eager to help, Margaret rushed to the broom cupboard and produced the required items. Ivor retreated to his study and returned with his camera, a prized possession, on the purchase of which Jack Raymond had advised. He took several photographs of the package, as Jen turned it from side to side.   
Then, at a nod from Jen, Margaret began to delicately brush away the soil and refuse from the package, which gradually took on the appearance of some kind of greased cloth.  
“I’m not sure how we can remove that string, or twine, or whatever it is,” said Jen.   
“Is the parcel soft or hard, Mother?” said Mike, unexpectedly. “If it’s soft, maybe you can ease it out of the string without breaking it?”  
“Hmm,” said Jen, carefully feeling the external wrapping to see what the contents might be like. “This outer covering is very stiff, but that might just be age and weathering. I can’t feel any hard edges. You try, Joy.”  
Joy touched the cloth, her sensitive pianist’s fingers probing the cloth gently, all over.   
“I can’t feel any edges or rough parts, and nothing hard,” she said. “It seems to be uniformly smooth and there are no wrinkles or differences in texture. This fabric almost seems to soften as I touch it. Could it be waxed, perhaps?”  
“Is it possible to compress it a little?” said Ivor, intrigued by Mike’s suggestion and Joy’s observation. “You might be able to winkle it out of the twine that way.”  
“Like a Christmas present when you want to keep the ribbon,” said Katharine.  
“Exactly, Katharine,” said her mother, “that’s a very good comparison. Let’s try.”  
Ever so gently, Jen compressed the corners of the package, easing them out from the fragile twine enclosing them. As one corner was released without breaking the twine, everyone sighed in relief.   
“Take another photograph, please Ivor,” said Jen. “The Royal Society of Archaeologists, or whatever they are called, can’t criticize us too much if we document what we are doing.”  
The photograph taken, Jen gestured to Joy to try to release the next corner. Everyone held their breath as Joy carefully squeezed one side of the package, and slowly eased the twine towards the corner. Again there was success, and now the twine was loose over the other two corners, making it an easy matter to release it as a single long piece.   
“We had better keep that twine safe,” said Jen. “It might be of interest to the Victoria and Albert Museum. Ancient packaging and all that.”  
Mary produced some old tissue paper, carefully treasured as was all paper these days, and wrapped the twine in it, then placed it in a shoe box.   
“Now,” said Jen, “let’s see if we can find out what is in the package itself.”


	10. Ambrose again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hidden treasure is revealed.

The fabric wrapping was very stiff. “I’m really nervous about opening it,” said Jen, almost to herself.   
“Try easing it back with a wooden spoon or a ruler,” suggested Mary. “That way your hands won’t touch it too much. I know people wear gloves when they handle precious items in museums; I’ll get some for you. And perhaps a rolling pin!” she added on inspiration. “You know how special old books are not allowed to open out flat? We can lay the wrapping back on the rolling pin so it is not creased.”  
“Good idea, Mary,” said Jen. Two of the children dashed off to the kitchen to commandeer a wooden spoon and rolling pin, and came back with some serving tongs as well.   
“Oh well done, Richard and Maidie-Rose,” said Joy. “The tongs will help us not to touch the fabric too much.”  
Jen eased the wooden spoon between the edges of the fabric, and, gloves now on her hands, carefully began to lift the fabric from where it had lain for, who knew how many, hundreds of years.   
“I can see more fabric inside,” said Rosemary excitedly, peering over her mother’s shoulder.   
“I’m not going to unwrap it completely,” said Jen. “Just enough to see if the contents will slide out. Or at least to see what they are.”  
Gradually, the gentle motion of the rounded spoon eased the fabric layers away from each other, the inside of the wrapping revealed as a much lighter colour than the outside, and very smooth. “That looks like linen!” said Mary.   
After a while, Jen had exposed the whole side of the contents, and the triangular piece of external fabric lay smoothly folded back on to the rolling pin.   
“It must be nearly bed-time, you young ones,” said Joy.   
“Oh no, Mother, don’t make us go to bed now!” chorused her youngest children, and Jen’s. “We have to see what the treasure is.”  
“Don’t be too hopeful, darlings,” said Joy. “It may be quite ordinary.” But even Joy was hopeful that the contents of the package would be more than just ordinary.   
“I think I can slide it out now,” said Jen. “But I don’t want to put it directly onto the newspaper. Do we have a cloth I can slide it onto, please?”  
“I know!” said Elizabeth, and ran off to find a length of soft old white duck fabric that was used as a table cover.   
Jen lifted the parcel as the duck fabric was eased under it, Mary hastily removing the soiled newspaper layers.   
“Now,” said Jen, “what treasure have we here?”  
With the kitchen tongs, Jen drew out the contents of the package. Everyone gasped as they were revealed.  
Before them lay what looked like a large soft bag, made of a velvety fabric, and covered with embroideries. It was at least twelve inches long on each side. The embroidery depicted a man and a woman, the woman wearing a soft mauve coloured robe, and a real crown. “She’s a Hamlet Queen!” said Katharine.   
“I think she is the Queen of Heaven, Katharine,” said Mary quietly. “I believe this embroidery shows the Coronation of Mary, the mother of Jesus.”  
“Is that Jesus?” said Katharine, pointing to the bearded male figure, which was clad in a cream-coloured robe over a darker striped undershirt, and also wore a crown. There were gold threads among the embroidered work.   
“I think it may be,” said Jen reverently. The two figures were depicted seated, each under a pointed gothic archway.   
“This must be part of the Abbey,” said Joy. “What is it, do you think, Mary?”  
“Fabric must mean vestments of some kind, but I’m not sure what. Perhaps an altar cloth from the church?”  
Jen carefully turned the object over, and exclaimed, “Both sides are embroidered. And there’s something inside it!”  
The piece was clearly a bag of some kind. An opening at the top enabled Jen to carefully slide her gloved hand inside. She drew out two more items, then reached in again and drew out a third.   
Everyone contemplated the items curiously; what were they?  
The first two items were folded pieces of similarly embroidered velvet cloth, and looked to be long and narrow, one longer than the other.   
“Shall we try to unfold them?” said Joy, doubtful of the wisdom of such an action.   
“This one,” said Jen. Together, they carefully unfolded the fabric, which grew longer until it was at least six feet long. “I don’t know what this is called, but I think the priest would have worn it over his vestments.”  
“Is that silk brocade,” wondered Mary, “and that must be silver embroidery!” The fabric piece was long and narrow, and at each end was a wide triangle with a squared off end. The whole piece was heavily embroidered on both sides. The second narrow piece was similarly made but not as long. “That might be a stole, worn around the shoulders,” said Mary.   
“What about this last piece?” said Jen. “It looks like a block shape, and is rather worn on one side.”  
“Could it have been something to kneel on? Like we use cushions when we have to sit on cold stone?” suggested Rosemary.   
“You may be right, darling,” said Jen. “These are treasures for the Abbey indeed. Joan must hear about this as soon as possible. Her expert will want to see them too. He will be able to tell us what they all are.”  
“It’s another part of the Abbey, isn’t it Mother?” said little Maidie-Rose.   
“Yes, darling, I believe it is,” said Joy. “It must have been buried in the ground, wrapped in the heavy waxed cloth, before the beech tree was planted over it, perhaps to hide it from Henry VIII’s soldiers. Fancy it being soldiers who found it again! We must let the sergeant know. The men will be very pleased.”  
Ivor took a few more photographs of the items, before Jen and Joy carefully folded them again and placed them back in the velvet bag.   
“And now, it really is bed-time,” said Joy. “Shoo, you lot, and Daddy and I will be up to kiss you goodnight.”   
The next day, Joan and Jack travelled over in their car, to see the precious items, and the little crowd from the Manor, as well as Len and Joan Fraser, also paid homage to the newly discovered treasures.   
Joan carefully drew the objects out of the bag, which she said was called a burse. She confirmed that the long piece of fabric was a stole, worn around the shoulders, and the shorter one a maniple, to be worn over the left arm by the priest. And the small oblong piece, was indeed for kneeling on!  
“How wonderful to hold something that Abbot Michael, or the priests, may have worn,” she said. “That waxed external cloth certainly kept them in perfect condition. I wonder who had the forethought to bury them, before the church was ransacked?”  
“I bet it was old Ambrose again,” said Jen. “Or if not, a young lay brother, who couldn’t bear to see the Abbot’s vestments be the subject of sacrilege. Oh Joan, what a wonderful addition to the Abbey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Abbey Dore vestments are described here: https://archive.org/stream/b24886774/b24886774_djvu.txt They were discovered in a chest in a farmhouse in Herefordshire. I have used these as the basis for the discovery of the Grace Dieu vestments.  
> https://www.dhi.ac.uk/cistercians/image_gallery/pages/0409.php


	11. Before the Blitz - May 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the lull before the Blitz, a new May Queen is crowned.

The perfect summer of 1940 was dawning, in the glow of a soft April. Every day was sunny and warm. People were enjoying the relative quiet, and many were surprised that no particular offensives against England had begun. France and Norway had fallen; there was deep distress about both invasions, and the loss of life and liberty. But, buoyed by the quiet days in England, many of the evacuees had been claimed by their parents and taken back to London, most of Jen’s among them, and Jen was sad to see them go. Only little Doris remained, a companion for Barbara and Simon.  
Mary-Dorothy had been comforted by the news that Biddy and her children had evacuated to Switzerland, and were staying at the Platz, at the great hospital that was well known to Rosamund Kane and Cecily Perowne. Biddy had a role as teacher of English, and the children, Madelon Marie, and Marie Rose, were at St Mary’s school, the school which was established for the children of patients at the Platz. Biddy’s husband, Etienne, remained in France. His factories had been annexed by the Germans, and reluctantly he had stayed to oversee the safety of his workers.   
“We have chosen a new Queen, Mother,” said Elizabeth one afternoon when they returned from school. “It’s Diana, who was Littlejan’s maid.”  
“Oh, I am so pleased,” said Joy, “I remember Diana, and you telling me about what a good friend she was to Jennifer during that time when the leader of the orchestra was being chosen.”*  
“Yes, she is very thoughtful and kind, but she doesn’t put up with nonsense from the younger girls either. I am sure she will make a good Queen,” said Elizabeth. “I am not sure what flower she will have.”  
“I can’t believe that Jansy finishes school soon. What about the new Head Girl? Do you have any idea whom Miss Raven may choose?” asked Joy.  
“I think it will be Elizabeth,” said Margaret, the younger twin. “She is heaps more sensible than I am. The Head likes her.” Elizabeth blushed, and smiled at her mother.  
“Well, we shall see,” said Joy. “I would be proud if it were either of you, but I am very proud of all you are doing already, and I think I would burst my buttons if I was any prouder!”   
The new Queen was duly informed of the Club’s choice, and the traditional crowning of the twenty-ninth Queen of the Hamlet Club at Broadway End was planned, to take place before the school event. The twins were always counted as one year of a Queen, even though there were two of them. Their silver medallions read: “Elizabeth, 28th Queen of the Hamlet Club, with her sister Margaret”, and “Margaret, 28th Queen of the Hamlet Club, with her sister Elizabeth”.  
“What flower will you have, Diana?” said Margia Lane, who had made the robes for nearly all of the previous twenty-eight Queens of the May.   
“People may think it a little strange, but I would like to choose amaranth,” said Diana. “Mother and I talked about it. Amaranth is sometimes called ‘love lies bleeding’, which is a bit awful. But don’t you think it is perhaps appropriate at the moment, Miss Lane? It also means ‘unfading’ in Greek and is a symbol of immortality – I looked it up. It is rather like a motto – the Hamlet Club’s motto is ‘to be or not to be’ – so ‘unfading’ is a bit like that, meaning, ‘to be’. Or am I being a bit silly?” finished Diana shyly.   
“Not silly at all,” said Margia, deeply impressed by Diana’s thoughtfulness about the symbolism of her flower, which was quite unusual in a Queen. But these were unusual times.   
Margia Lane made Diana a beautiful bright apple green train, with sprays of the deep crimson or magenta amaranth appliqued in raised clusters around the sides and hem. The lining was a deep cream, for some amaranth flowers also came in that colour. As a transition from the deep green of the twins’ robes, with their yellow and white flowers, Elizabeth’s white lining and Margaret’s gold, it was a striking and harmonious choice.   
“The name amaranth means “unfading”, explained Margia quietly to Cicely, the Hamlet Club President, and Mary-Dorothy, at Broadway End, as they admired the Queen’s robe before the first crowning. “But its common name is ‘love lies bleeding’.”  
“That’s a brave choice,” said Cicely, “And a bit confronting, really. But for a war-time Queen, I can see its appropriateness. The girls may not realise, but adults will. And let’s hope these girls all grow up to be adults,” she added soberly.   
“Diana felt she wanted something that related to the sacrifice of lives during this war; rather fine of her, I think,” said Margia. “Every time she carries a sheaf of amaranth, we will remember the sacrifice. And although Diana may not know this, amaranth is also the flower most associated with the goddess Diana. The green is the green of its leaves, but also of the oak leaves, for Diana was said to live in a sacred grove of oak trees. The girls need not know all this symbolism, but Diana is rather deep thinking. I will tell her about this association as well.”  
“And her name signifies not only the huntress, but also the goddess of girls,” added Mary-Dorothy, much struck by the resonance of ideas connected with Diana’s choice. “So much lies behind the Hamlet Club, even though many of the girls enjoy it without much awareness. I am glad to think that this new Queen has such a highly developed sensitivity.”  
“I think this whole generation will develop a sensitivity which is uncommon,” said Cicely. “They are already remarkable. The motto can’t fail to inspire them, as well.”   
Her eyes rested on her tall son, who was appearing for the first time in his new uniform of the RAF. Janice stood at his side, holding his arm, pale but smiling. For Janice Raymond and Richard Everett had announced their engagement the week before, not unexpectedly, but at a time to bring feelings of both joy and despair to their parents. At eighteen, to face such an unknown and unpredictable future – it was neither fair nor right. Janice was due to leave school this year, having always been ahead of her age in her form; the young couple hoped to marry at the end of the following year, just after their nineteenth birthdays. “You can’t ask us to wait any longer, Mother and Dad,” Janice had said to her parents, who had been troubled by this early marriage. “You know what might happen.”  
“I have never said I hated someone before,” said Joan Raymond to Jen Marchwood, “but I completely and utterly hate that man in Germany, for bringing this madness and cruelty upon the world and our children.”  
“Dearest Joan,” said Jen, placing an arm around Joan’s waist, “keep your pure heart. Don’t let hate spoil it. Admire the people who do good and dismiss those who are evil; they are not worth your contempt and certainly not worth the energy wasted in hate. You will need all your energy for love, for all of us. I don’t think you realise how much we rely on you. I certainly do. Why if it had not been for you, I could hardly have survived Rosemary’s illness all those years ago.”**  
“Thank you, Jen,” said Joan, deeply touched and grateful for Jen’s good sense. “I know it’s my role to give love and care, and it’s what I want to do. Do you remember my mother, and how much she cared for everyone? I try to be like her. Do you know, it is her birthday today? She would have been seventy-one, had she lived. I think of her every time I look at Margaret Joan, who bears her name and mine, of course. Mother never held a grudge or hated anyone, or was resentful of carelessness, even though she had some cause for a while.”  
“Dear Aunty Shirley,” said Jen. “She looked after you and Joy so well, and then all the rest of us. And just think, Joan, how many times Jansy was ill with something. Yet none of those things harmed Jansy; none of those illnesses maimed or killed her. You might have lost her as a child, but here she is, ready to marry her sweetheart.”  
“It’s as if the Abbey has sheltered us all,” said Joan. “Mother asked Sir Antony if she might bring us here during the early days of the first war. Joy’s father had been dead only four years, and mine for two. He had consumption, you know, and she nursed him. How brave she was. The strokes that affected her were cruel, to take her so young.”  
“I know Mary’s ethic of thankfulness,” continued Joan. “And I do thank God for my mother and cousin, all my lovely children and husband, and so many wonderful loving friends. But I can’t help feeling he has placed humanity on a precipice this time. And our children, each of them! Why, Jen?”  
“I think we are all asking that question, dear,” said Jen. “There must be some reason, Joan, even if we can’t see it yet. Perhaps there is a bigger choice to be made, one that the whole Earth must decide. I just don’t know.”   
The two women hugged warmly, and a little desperately, before parting to move among the happy group and to congratulate Diana on her crowning and her medal, which Cicely, the Hamlet Club president, had presented to her, following the tradition created by Cicely’s grandfather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This incident takes place in “Two Queens at the Abbey” by Elsie. J. Oxenham.  
> ** Joan Raymond stood by Jen and Ken Marchwood when Rosemary had to have an operation for appendicitis, in “Maidlin Bears the Torch” by Elsie. J. Oxenham.


	12. A compliment of Queens - May 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crowning of the new May Queen takes place.

A week later, on May Day, the crowning at school took place and the whole school, and visitors from the town and country flocked to the school hall for the afternoon ceremony. There would only be a brief interlude of dancing, but as many Queens as possible had mustered to honour Queen Diana, as if in an act of defiance against the war.  
“Nearly a full complement of Queens, come to compliment you, Diana,” quipped Jen Marchwood.  
Twenty-three of the twenty-seven years of Queens were represented, led by Miriam, the first White Queen, whose white train was decorated with forget-me-nots. Cicely, the gold Autumn Queen followed; then Joy, the Green Queen, whose robe bore sprays of traveller’s joy, for Marguerite, the Strawberry Queen, was still in New York; Joan, the Violet Queen, was followed by Muriel, the Speedwell Queen, making a welcome return to the procession after many years living on the west coast. Then came Nesta, whose train was decorated with large circles to represent honesty leaves; Barbara Honor, the Wild Rose Queen; and Beatrice, the Striped Tulip Queen. Rosamund, Red Rose Queen, led Jen, the Beech Brown Queen of the golden dancing flowers; then came Maidlin, the Primrose Queen; and Anne Manley, the Clover Queen; followed by Grace, the Grey or Garden Queen, with a border of delicately painted flowers on her pale grey train to honour every former Queen.  
Queens Ivy, Bluebell, Heather and Poppy had moved away and seemed to have lost contact with the school. The last time they had been at a crowning was for Mirry, the twentieth Queen. Like Marguerite, the Strawberry Queen, none of them had appeared in a procession for some years, to everyone’s regret. Instead, little maids carried velvet cushions on which lay coronets woven of strawberry leaves and flowers, ivy, bluebells, heather leaves, and red poppies, following the new tradition created when Marigold was unable to take her place in the procession.  
Molly, Queen Hyacinth and May, Queen Lilac, had travelled with Rosamund from Kentisbury, and proudly took their places in the procession. The next Queen was Mirry, whose vibrant sky blue robe celebrated the forget-me-nots that decorated her mother Miriam’s white robe, and were the symbol of remembrance for the club. Joan Fraser, the Marigold Queen, led Jean Guthrie, the Rosemary Queen, who, having started as a children’s nurse at Kentisbury, was now doing war work in London and had taken advantage of a weekend’s leave to attend; then Janice Raymond, the Lobelia Queen.  
Janice, Alec and Len looked on proudly, for it was the first time they had all been at a crowning together to see their beloved Littlejan in the procession. Len held up little John for Littlejan to see, and waved his arms.  
The Lavender Queen, Lady Rosalind Grandison, formerly Kane; Theresa, or Tessa, the Lupin Queen; and Phyllida, or Phyl, the Wallflower Queen, brought up the end of the main procession. Each was attended by a little evacuee child, rather than daughters, since so many of the daughters were themselves now Queens. The twins, Elizabeth and Margaret Marchwood, the Buttercup and Daisy Queens, came last, when all the other Queens were seated, wearing faded wreaths of narcissus. Rosemary Marchwood and Hermione Manley, who were in the junior school, proudly carried their trains.  
Phyl, the Wallflower Queen, the Queen before the twins, stood with Joy, the Green Queen, to greet them. The custom was for the previous Queen to remove the old narcissus wreaths and place the thick crowns of forget-me-nots on the head of the outgoing Queen. When the twins were first crowned, a year ago, Joy had declined to be one of those who placed the white crowns on their heads. However, this time, Joy felt she could not refuse the invitation to crown one of her twins with their tribute, so she and Phyl stood together to greet them.  
Elizabeth knelt before her mother, and Margaret before Phyl, and each bronze head was capped with a thick wreath of blue forget-me-nots, to cheers from the assembly of school girls and friends. Even Miss Macey, the former headmistress of the school, had made the effort to attend this first war-time crowning of the modern era, and had been warmly welcomed by her many grateful pupils. Tears filled her eyes as she remembered the first crowning, of Miriam, when the club had saved a difficult situation for the school.*  
Then Elizabeth and Margaret walked back the length of the hall, holding hands, to greet the new Queen. Diana, bare-headed, and in her glorious and significant robe, carried a great sheaf of early crimson amaranth in her arms. The twins turned and led her up the length of the hall, heads high, and the imaginative small maid, an evacuee, who carried Diana’s train, choked back tears to think she was part of this unique moment in the club’s history. Perhaps never again would so many Queens be present, and perhaps never again would twin Queens lead the new Queen to her throne. It was indeed a great compliment to the Club and this Queen that so many former Queens were present.  
Margaret and Elizabeth together placed the traditional crown of white narcissus on Diana’s head, before she turned to face the audience. Diana was not shy, and had elected to make a short speech.  
“Thank you everyone,” she said, “for your kind welcome. Thank you, Margaret and Elizabeth for being such wonderful Queens.” There were cheers again for the twins, before she could go on.  
“Six of our former Queens, five of whom are here today, were crowned during the Great War,** and their reigns were really important in keeping up the school spirit. I hope that I can follow in their footsteps during my reign, and that our school and everyone in it stays safe. I hope too that we can do things to help, in however small a way. Thank you again, and thank you to so many former Queens for coming today. I will try to do my best to honour you and the Club.”  
Amid cheers, Diana sat down, and was congratulated by the Queens near her for her brave speech.  
Joy had a special word for her. “Your train and mine have a similar background colour, Diana. I love the bright apple green, and the contrast with the vivid crimson amaranth is beautiful.”  
“Thank you, Lady Quellyn,” said Diana. “Miss Lane told me it would be a background colour similar to yours, and I was so pleased. I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”  
“No indeed, it is a great compliment,” said Joy. “After all, the prettiest flowers have pale green backgrounds, don’t you think?” she added mischievously, and Diana laughed, in spite of her nervousness in the company of such an august personage as the twins’ mother.  
In the established custom, the Queens withdrew to change into dancing costume, and the violinists to the club, the now fragile Margia Lane, Lady Rosalind Grandison, and Margaret Marchwood, each took turns to accompany the dancing.  
But as it was getting towards late afternoon, the dancing proceeded for only half an hour, before Miss Raven thanked all the guests for attending and called a halt to proceedings. A bus was waiting to take people to the station, or beyond to remote villages, so that no-one need be on their journey after dark. For even here, planes were seen passing overhead and very occasionally a bomb had fallen somewhere in the Chilterns, although quite a few were unexploded, and had to be defused by the bomb disposal teams.  
Rosamund, Joan and Maidlin remained at the Hall, for the journey to their distant homes was not safe at night. Quite a crowd gathered in Joy and Ivor’s great hall for supper. It was a good chance to catch up on news, although everyone was now cautious, and some unable, to speak about what they were currently involved with.  
“Is Jock doing war work, Maid?” asked her close friend Rosamund. “I didn’t think he was wearing uniform at all.”  
“He can’t really talk about what he is doing,” said Maidlin. “He is able to live at home, but every week he is away for a few days. I am very proud of him. Not everyone who is doing important things wears a uniform.”  
Ivor Quellyn also disappeared for several hours each week to large country houses, which he and Jock described as supply depots or administrative centres. He had unearthed Joy’s motorcycle from the garage, insisted she teach him how to ride it, and was seen driving in different directions around the lanes, to the intrigue of many local inhabitants, making his many ways to who knew what destinations.  
“Ivor speaks fluent and idiomatic German, after years of study on the Continent,” said Joy to Muriel Bayne, who had been a particular friend during their school days, but had not been home to the area for many years.  
Muriel nodded thoughtfully. “I am sure that is a significant asset, although you may never know exactly what he is doing. It’s best that way. I have friends doing work in Scotland, very hush-hush, and I am hardly even supposed to know they are there.”  
“I don’t know what Ivor is doing, but I do know it matters,” said Joy. “And the great thing is that it is compatible with his conducting concerts occasionally. I am so glad our nation values its culture – people love hearing fine music and I am sure it lifts their spirits.”  
In fact, none of the friends would ever know the true nature of Ivor’s or Jock’s work. Both men were bound by secrecy agreements, under which it was unlikely they, or any of their closest friends and family, could ever talk or know about their work in the war. It would be left to their children and grandchildren to celebrate their contribution, when the legacy of the work at places like Bletchley, Whaddon Hall, Latimer House and Trent Park could, at last, be made public.***  
“Dick, and Jack Raymond, are both leading Home Guard regiments,” said Cicely to Miss Macey, who had been invited to the Hall to stay for the weekend. The twins had been faintly appalled to know that the former headmistress of their school would be staying in their home, but were finding her good company, with interesting stories about Joy and Joan, and of the time when the whole school had lived in the Hall.**** There was even an old story about Miss Macey jumping into the well in the crypt to rescue someone, but she didn’t talk about that.  
“Dick and Jack offered themselves for active service, but their previous military service and high standing in the community made them ideal organisers and captains of the Home Guard. Ken Marchwood is also working with Dick’s troop. He wasn’t considered fit for active service, after that accident and illness he had a few years ago. I think each would have preferred a more active role, but they can see how important the home defences are too. We all are worried about what the next few months will bring. At present, though, everyone is so calm. If it were not for the bad news from France, we might almost think there was no war at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * “Girls of the Hamlet Club"  
> ** Two Queens were crowned in 1914, Cicely and Marguerite, because Cicely had to leave for Ceylon only a month after her crowning.  
> *** Documents relating to intelligence work were not released until late in the 1990s or early 2000s.  
> *** “The Girls of the Abbey School”; “Schooldays in the Abbey”


	13. A Boat Trip to Dunkirk – 26 May to 4 June 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A call is sent out for men with sailing experience to report for duty. Alec answers the call.

“Kentisbury is in the line of an invasion, if that were to happen, since they are so near the coast,” said Ivor Quellyn soberly to Joy, after a conversation with his friend the Earl of Kentisbury. “Geoffrey has been consulting with the commanding officers who are stationed there; they have ordered that Rosamund and the children be located elsewhere for the duration. Geoffrey will go too.” With frightening rapidity, the war had come in earnest.   
“Will they go to Rayley*?” said Joy. “Or should we invite them here? Rosamund has always been so kind helping others, such as Jandy Mac and Anne Manley. It seems wrong she should be having to uproot her family.”  
“Rosamund and Geoff intend to take all the youngsters to Vairy,” said Ivor. “It’s believed to be a very safe location. Young Rosalin Black and Patricia Kane are going with them, with Patricia’s little ones. It’s near Rosalin’s old home, of course, and Patricia’s too I believe.”   
“Roddy is at school now, with the Fraser, Marchwood and Raymond boys. It doesn’t seem so long ago that Rosamund was rushing off to Malta to bring him and his mother back to England,” sighed Joy. “I have to say, Ivor, that I don’t like the idea of Joan and Maidlin being down towards that coast. Both their houses are quite isolated and it would be hard to go for help if….”  
A strange message was broadcast on the BBC a few nights later, at 9 pm. It asked any men with marine or navigation skills to report to the Naval Reserve authorities as soon as possible.   
“Goodness, they must be desperate if the Navy wants civilians with navigation or small boat experience,” said Joy, hearing the message.   
“I imagine it’s to help with training, the same sort of thing that Len is doing with our girls,” said Ivor quietly. “It’s the same as ploughing up our lawns or taking our trees; everything has to have a new purpose. Not the sort of thing you need to take any notice of, my dear.” Not for anything could Ivor reveal what he knew; that there was to be another transport activity taking place soon: one that could mean life or death, or see the destruction of the whole British land forces. Soon the whole country would know of the miracle of Dunkirk, but for now, it was deadly secret.  
Janice Fraser came in the next day, quite excited. “Alec has gone to report to the Naval Reserve in response to that message last night. He’s so pleased to think he can be of some use. Len was keen as well, but Alec is going to tell the authorities about him to see if there is any use he can be put to from home.”  
“Has Alec left already?” said Ivor.   
“Yes,” said Jandy, “he has gone to Thame. Were you thinking of reporting, Ivor? I didn’t know you had any marine experience.”  
“Only sailing,” said Ivor abstractedly. He retreated to his study, before he headed off in the motorcycle, which he had re-christened Boadicea, to his secret destination. “We can’t call her Belinda, any more, it’s too confusing,” Joy had said. “I would rather forget her days as Belinda as well.”   
At the Herb Garden, Len was keen to know what Alec going to do.  
“I wish I knew, Len,” said Janice. “But he may not be able to talk about it, of course. He did phone to say they are doing training and that he may not be back until the end of the week.”  
“I doubt that it’s only training, Janice,” said Len. “You know the British Expeditionary Force is trapped at Dunkirk. I know that area; big ships can’t get in there, and if the Germans have destroyed the main harbour, there is only a mole and wooden wharf that can be reached. Small boats have a chance of getting in; ferries, fishing boats, lifeboats, larger pleasure craft; but naval vessels – not a chance.”  
“Perhaps Alec is advising on how to get boats into the area,” said Janice, rather troubled.   
“Perhaps,” responded Len. “I am sure you are right.”  
It was several days later that Alec returned. By then, the newspapers were full of the miracle of Dunkirk.   
“Alec, dearest, I am so glad you are back,” said Janice, “Len and I talked about the BEF and the possible evacuation. Was that what you were advising on?”  
“Not exactly advising,” said Alec, looking strained and tired, but somehow exhilarated. “I was able to go on one of the fishing boats, Jan. The Naval crews managed most of the boats they had commandeered, including the lifeboat that operates out of the coast near Kentisbury!”  
“We made quite a few trips across the Channel. I don’t know how many men we brought, but there were untold thousands on the beaches.”  
Alec subsided into a chair, and did not speak for some time. He had seen much to disturb him, beyond anything encountered in his eventful life on the oceans of the southern hemisphere. As a sailor’s wife, Janice had experienced separation and distance many times, but never before had her husband gone to sea without her knowing, and never before in war time. What might have been struck at her heart, and fear rose within her. She set out later to the Hall; Mary-Dorothy might talk some sense into her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Joan and Jack Raymond’s home is variously referred to as Rayley, Rayleigh, and Rayleigh Park in different books. I have chosen to use the earliest reference I could find.


	14. Mary's challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary can't help Janice, but someone else needs her help more.

“Mary-Dorothy, I feel so frightened,” said Janice, after knocking on the door of Mary’s gold and brown study, where she was trying to work on another book.   
“Alec went to Dunkirk and helped in the evacuation. I am so proud of him, but also feel sick with what may have happened. And yet am I being selfish? Think how many men died there on the beaches, and how many more must now be prisoners of war?” Janice broke down, and sobbed for a few minutes, while Mary sat quietly by, an arm over her shoulders.   
“I keep thinking that next year Alastair will be old enough to go, and the following year Alan, if they leave school early. Thousands of other mothers have given their sons and I know I must too, but I don’t know how I can bear it. But I had never thought I might have to give my husband as well!”  
“Janice,” said Mary slowly, “what year did you first sail from Australia to England?”  
Startled by the strange enquiry, Janice lifted her head and stared at Mary.   
“It was 1916,” she said.   
“Jandy Mac, that was during the first war,” said Mary. “How brave must you have been to travel then! Surely the risks were enormous? And you were worried about Alec and Dunkirk, just across the English Channel!”   
“I know, Mary, it does seem a little disproportionate in terms of distance. But they were under fire from the air and land and sea, and men were dead all around them. The comparison means nothing, even though the distance was less. I suppose we were in danger of mines and torpedos… but thankfully nothing happened.”  
“What route did you travel by?” asked Mary, sincerely curiously, but also hopeful that talking of her own travels might lessen Jandy’s distress over Alec’s recent voyage into the conflict across the Channel.  
“The Suez route. Around the south coast of Australia, then across the Indian Ocean, through the Suez and the Mediterranean, then through the Bay of Biscay and on to Southampton,” summarised Janice briefly.   
“Bravery seems to run in the Fraser family,” said Mary. “I’ve only been out of England once, when Rosamund and I travelled to Switzerland that first time. Joy organised a travel agent to accompany us.”  
“Mary, I think after this is all over, you and I will take a trip to Switzerland or France to see Biddy and the children. How does that sound?” Janice smiled at Mary, then turned after a few more pleasantries, and walked away and down the stairs.   
For the first time, Janice felt that Mary could not help her in a crisis. How could she, when, for all her imagination, her experience was so circumscribed? She ended the conversation in the manner she thought would make Mary believe that she had turned away Janice’s mind from fear, just as Mary might change the subject and thus soothe and distract one of the children. It was not a strategy that could help Janice, but there was no point in distressing Mary.   
But Janice underestimated Mary’s perception and thus was unaware of Mary’s tears, for Mary knew that, once again, she had failed a friend.*  
After a while, Mary drearily roused herself, washed, and walked quietly down the stairs and out of the Hall through the kitchen. The Abbey was where she hoped to find solace, and perhaps, guidance.   
The cloister garth was empty, bathed in late afternoon sunlight, and seemed the perfect sanctuary. But not only Mary had sought sanctuary there, and Mary was both worried and startled to hear what was unmistakeably someone crying.   
The door to the rooms which until recently been Rachel’s was open, and the light was on, for the front room, the parlour, had not much natural light entering, unlike the rear bedrooms, which faced out onto the grounds where the original church had been. Hesitantly, Mary knocked on the open door, and saw the face of a tear-streaked Benedicta turned towards her, from where she was lying curled up in an arm-chair.   
“Oh Benny-ben, what has happened?” said Mary, forgetting her own distress completely in the face of such misery. She gathered the sobbing girl into her arms. “Is there something amiss with your brother, or little Penny?”  
“No, nothing like that,” said Benedicta, struggling to speak. “It’s Tom, my friend. He went to Dunkirk, and he hasn’t come back.”  
“Oh, my dear,” said Mary, holding her tightly. “Perhaps he has been injured or captured? Do you know for sure what has happened to him?”  
“No,” said Benedicta, “his mother rang to say that he was missing. There was no definite news.”  
“Had he gone in his own boat?” asked Mary, unable to comprehend how or why a country doctor had come to be there.  
Benedicta sat up, and took a sip of water that Mary fetched her. “He took his own boat down the coast to Margate. It was a good strong boat, and he had sailed for years, so he knew he could help. Plus being a doctor… The navy commandeered the boat, but he was allowed to sail with the crew, because he might be able to help the injured. They brought back two loads of soldiers, then went out again. But they didn’t come back.”  
“Oh, what a brave thing to do!” said Mary. “You and his family should be very proud of him, Benney-ben, no matter what.”  
“Yes,” said Benedicta, “but, oh, Mary, I can’t bear it if he is gone. We were going to be engaged. We love each other.” Benedicta covered her face with her hands. Mary sat quietly, in desperate sympathy for young woman. Why was this happening all over again, to so many young men and women? Mary remembered Nelly Bell telling her a similar story of her own experience from the first war, some twenty years ago. That experience had driven Nelly into a shell of dreams that nearly caused a state of serious illness.  
“What do you want to do, Benny?” said Mary. “Would you like me to tell anyone? You might like to visit his family in Norfolk?”  
“I don’t know,” said Benedicta, hopelessly. “Maybe. I’ll decide soon. More news may come. Perhaps you could tell Lady Jen for me? She has been interested in Tom from the start. I can’t bear to tell her myself.”  
“I’ll go now, but if you get a chance, talk to Janice and Alec. He was there too,” said Mary. Perhaps in sharing their own feelings, Janice and Benedicta might find understanding. At least she could send them to each other. Mary followed the path to the Manor, and Jen’s distressed reception of the news, both deeply aware of how little they could do to make up for such loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Mary went through a crisis when she was unable to help Jen, who had heard of the sudden death of her mother in “Queen of the Abbey Girls”.


	15. Bearing fruit - Autumn 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bombs are falling, but so is fruit. Something has to be done.

Bombs had begun to fall on London every night since September 7: it was called the Blitz. Thousands of people were dying, thousands of homes were being lost in storms of fire, and the valiant fighter planes seemed to be losing the battle of the air. Each night, in the distance, could be heard the wail of sirens, the drone of planes, and if one went up onto the hills, the glow of fires could be seen away in the south. Each night, young men in the air, and old and young men, women and children on the ground, were dying.  
At the Hall and the Manor, the Pallant and the Herb Garden, Quellyn and Vairy, the friends tried to stay calm and purposeful. There were little, and not so little, evacuees to educate and tend, distracted teachers to talk to and engage in small pleasures, and various activities associated with the preparation of food and clothing. No more news had come to the pale Benedicta, and she was listless and unwell, yet dedicated to the maintenance of the Abbey gardens.   
The blackberries were thick on all the laneway bushes, and Cicely looked at them thoughtfully as she walked home one afternoon with her younger children from a stroll to check the coverings on Whiteleaf Cross. Both Whiteleaf and Bledlow Crosses had to be carefully obscured with thick covers of vegetation, to avoid their being used as navigation marks by enemy aeroplanes.   
“I wonder if anyone is using all the fruit that is hanging on trees and bushes everywhere? There could be so many jams and preserves made,” speculated Cicely.  
“Have you ever made jam, Mummy?” said Cicely’s Teddy, now her youngest child, since little Shirley had lost her battle with illness two years ago.   
“Why yes, Teddy, I was quite an expert! Aunty Miriam and Aunty Marguerite and I used to make jam in the cottage that Miriam grew up in. I hate to see all this lovely fruit going to waste when people would love to have some jam or fruit preserves on the table.”  
“What do you need to make jam with, Mummy?” said Teddy, quite interested in the idea.  
“Sugar, fruit and jars,” said Cicely. “We don’t have much except fruit, I am afraid. But perhaps we can do something about that. You know, Teddy, I have an idea.”  
The next meeting of the Women’s Institute was the following afternoon. Cicely turned up with a wooden box full of jars gleaned from her cook’s pantry, and when she stood to address the meeting, she placed the box on the table beside her.  
“Ladies, all of you will have seen the abundance of fruit that has set on the trees and bushes this year. When I look at that fruit, I see jam on the table, or in the rations sent to our soldiers. I propose that we set up centres for jam making, and organise the collection of fruit, jars and excess sugar rations, then begin jam making. What do you think?”  
Jen Marchwood stood and addressed the chair. “Madame Chair, I second this suggestion. We at the Manor have fruit trees with more fruit than we can use, and I would be very happy to contribute it to the cause. We have a very considerable sugar ration with our large family, and can donate a good portion of that, since we don’t use all of it each week.” The meeting murmured approvingly at this generous suggestion.   
“Thank you, Lady Marchwood,” said Cicely, with the formality the meeting enjoyed. “I think many of us may be able to contribute some portion of our sugar allowance, however, we will also make representation to the Ministry of Food for a special allowance, due to our contributions to military rations.”  
Joy had attended this meeting as well. “As District Guide Commissioner, I would like to suggest that the Girl Guide, Brownie and Ranger troops in the locality could be deputised to travel around their local areas to collect jars, donated sugar, and fruit. The Scout troops may also wish to be involved.”  
“Thank you, Lady Quellyn,” said Cicely. “I would not like the guides to have to walk too many miles, so the more kitchens or centres we can set up, the better. I would like to offer my big kitchen as a centre, once a week. My housekeeper is quite prepared to assist. Some of us may have children’s trolley carts which could be used in collection.”  
“The Manor kitchen can also be used at least once a week,” said Jen. “And we do have a trolley cart which the local Guides may use.”  
“I will have to check with Mrs Fraser, who is currently staying at the Music School in the village,” said Joy, “but I believe she would be quite happy to supervise preparation in the large kitchen there as well.”  
One by one, people in the area volunteered their homes for jam making sessions.   
“I would also like to propose the school kitchen at my school in Wycombe,” said Miss Raven, who had, to everyone’s interest and delight, recently joined the WI. “I believe the pupils could contribute to the jam making activity, and to the collection of jars in the town. Our May Queens last year and this,” with a smile towards Joy, “encouraged a good sense of citizenship among the students, and they have already been collecting jars, cotton reels and waste paper. We can contribute quite a collection of jars to get started.”  
“Thank you everyone,” said Cicely, much heartened by the enthusiasm with which her idea had been accepted. “We could also make chutney, which uses less sugar – I have quite a few recipes from my days in Ceylon.”  
“Should we have a name for the activity?” asked Joy, “so that people know what it is to which they are contributing?”  
“Perhaps we could call the centres something simple, like Food Preservation Centres?” suggested Jen.  
“I think Fruit Preservation Centres might be better,” said Cicely seriously, “or people will think we can preserve other foods, such as meat or milk.”*  
Rosamund, on hearing of the initiative away up in Scotland, eagerly wrote out and sent the recipes she had used with her Aunts Audrey and Elspeth, making jams and preserves at the Rose and Squirrel. “Elspeth won’t have had time to process all those gooseberries and currants in the Rose and Squirrel garden,” she thought to herself. “I must contact Wood End School and see if they would set up a Fruit Preservation Centre there! Hopefully the fruit hasn’t all gone to waste over the summer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fruit Preservation Centres were operated in the Buckinghamshire kitchens, village halls and schools by the Women’s Institutes. By the end of the war, it would be boasted that tons of jam and chutneys had been made, and at least sixty-seven centres were in operation. Women's Institutes - Wikipedia - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Women%27s_Institutes#Activities


	16. A sticky success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jam-making is a startling success.

Within a few days, the first jam-making event took place at Broadway End. Jam-makers, from the Hall and Manor, including Jen, Mary-Dorothy, Janice, Joy and Janice, with the twins Margaret and Elizabeth, and the inseparable Rosemary and Hermione, joined with Cicely, and her kitchen staff and several other members of the WI, to boil up gallons of blackberries foraged for by the enthusiastic Guides and Brownies of the area. About twenty buckets of fruit were proudly transported by trolley cart to Broadway End that first day. Janice’s younger girls, Cecily and Janet, Cissy Everett, with little Katharine and Barbara Marchwood, and twins Chris and Barney, were ready to pick the stems from the fruit.   
“Will you come and help too, Benedicta?” Jen asked kindly, as she passed Benedicta on the way to discuss travel arrangements with Joy. But Benedicta shrank from company at the moment, and would not be convinced to come. Pick fruit she would, gladly, but not talk to many people.  
“Blackberry buckets” had been distributed to each Guide family, and it became a matter of honour to fill one’s bucket on each jam-making day. Ripe apples supplemented the sugar allowance, and the addition of lemon juice from the precious hot-house lemon trees grown at Broadway End, the Manor and the Hall, helped in the setting of the jam.   
Janice Fraser had a word to Joy at the start of the jam-making day. “Joy, I noticed that the old rhubarb patches at the Music School and the nearby hostel have huge thick stalks and have spread all along the laneway. May we start harvesting the stalks, and make rhubarb and apple jam, and rhubarb chutney?’  
“Why yes, Jandy, what a good idea,” said Joy. “I had forgotten all about that rhubarb; it seems almost like an ornamental plant with those great leaves.”  
“I have a special fondness for that rhubarb patch,” said Mary-Dorothy. “I always associate it with my coming to the Hall, and meeting Nelly Bell. May I help in the harvest?”  
The boiling of the fruit and sugar filled the room with the rich scent of berries, and faces glowed with the warmth and effort of continuous work. As each cauldron full of jam was finished, it was replaced with another bucket of fruit that had been carefully picked over by the young helpers.   
As the sterilised jars were filled and their lids attached, Cicely insisted that they then go into a water bath in the big kettles arranged on the stove tops, and be brought to boil for ten minutes.   
“I read that water baths were a good idea to make sure no bacteria were present in the finished jam,” she said. “Better to be safe than sorry.” The adults carefully supervised the boiling and removal of the jars once finished. No accidents were wanted!  
As the afternoon wore on, there was a long row of jars filled with rich dark blackberry jam along the bench in the kitchen. “Perhaps we should try to keep a record of how much we make?” said Cicely. “I would like to be able to report how much we have made each session, and, who knows, it might spur others on to exceed our total. Should we measure by volume or weight?”  
“I think volume may be a little difficult, Aunt Cicely,” said Janice Raymond. “I don’t think we have a good volume measure anyway. Of course, if we weigh after bottling, the weight of the jar will be included.”  
“Thanks, Jansy,” said Cicely appreciatively. “I hadn’t thought about the jar weight, but I think it may be too time consuming to weigh each jar separately and then deduct that from the total weight. Let’s just include the jar weight as well; it won’t be more than a couple of ounces.”  
“One of our jars, and its lid, weighs four ounces. Isn’t that quite a lot?” piped up Rosemary Marchwood. “I just measured it on your scale, Aunty Cicely. So we won’t need to weigh every jar will we?”  
“Ah, Rosemary, well done, that’s actually more than I expected,” said Cicely. “So, for every four jars of that type, we would need to take off a pound. And I imagine those big Kilner jars are much heavier, maybe even half a pound each. I think perhaps we need a ledger. Why don’t you start weighing some filled jars, Jansy, and counting our total, and then do the calculation for us?”  
Janice sprang to the task of weighing a filled jar and counting how many had been bottled. Elizabeth wrote down the records carefully on a piece of paper, to be transferred to the ledger when it was created.   
“How will we label them, Cicely?” asked Jen. “How much information should we put on them?’  
“Can we put our names?” said Margaret. “I would love soldiers to know I made them jam.”  
“Why not? Good idea, Margaret,” said Cicely. “Let’s make labels showing who made them, our Institute name, the date, and the type of jam.”*  
“How do we stick them on?” asked Rosemary, carefully writing out her name on labels made from old envelopes received at the Manor over many years, and stored, surprisingly, as notepads by her thrifty father, Sir Ken. He had happily contributed them to the cause, since the number of ‘notepads’ he had accumulated far outstripped demand.   
“You may be surprised, Rosemary, but milk makes a good glue,” said Cicely. “It’s what Miriam and Marguerite and I always used when we made jam for her mother. You just carefully brush milk on the back of the label, then smooth it onto the jar. After a while it dries firmly, but is easy to wash off next time you want to use the jar.”  
“My goodness, who would have thought the President would be such a mine of useful information about jam-making,” murmured Joy to Jen, as they overheard this little byplay with amusement and admiration.   
“Everyone,” said Jansy impressively, as she and Elizabeth came to the end of their weighing activity, “I am proud to inform you that today, we have bottled 100 jars, or 75 pounds weight of jam. Each filled jar weighs one pound, which makes 100 pounds, and we took off 25 pounds for the total jar weight. We are well on our way to our first ton!”   
“I think there is rather a way to go,” said Joy repressively. “2240 pounds in a ton, after all, Jansy.”**  
“Ah, but Aunty Joy, 30 lots of 100 jars would make just a bit more than a ton. Don’t we have about 15 kitchens working today, around the county? If they each do 100 jars, that means half a ton of jam made in just one session of jam-making.” Janice showed Joy the page on which she had done a few simple calculations.   
“I stand corrected,” said Joy, laughing. “Many hands make jam work. Well done, Jansy, it makes the task seem easy when you put it like that.”  
“Half a ton of jam made today! And the weight is actually a lot more! We will have to be careful how we transport them, the boxes will be very heavy.” said Cicely. “I had no idea this scheme would produce such a massive amount! I must make a call to the Ministry of Food – they will want somewhere to store the excess that we can’t distribute in the villages and towns through the coupon schemes, so that it can go into rations for the servicemen and women.”  
“Cicely, my dear, congratulations on this brilliant scheme,” said Jen Marchwood generously. “This is going to make a huge difference in the lives of many people. Three cheers for the President! When is our next session? It had better be at the Manor, to give your poor cook time to restore her beautiful kitchen to rights! We can’t let the fruit rot on the vines and trees, so I hereby summon everyone who can come, to our next jam making in two days’ time. Fruit pickers, to action!”  
“And the Music School invites you all for two days after that, when we make rhubarb and apple jam as well,” finished Janice.   
“I wish we could win the war with jam, Mother,” said Rosemary to Jen, as they drove home together in Joy’s big car, a box of jams in the boot of the car to distribute to nearby cottagers, and a special one for Benedicta.   
“So do I, darling, so do I,” said Jen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This link shows the information on a can identifying Queen Elizabeth (the Queen Mother?) as the person who canned the fruit. https://thewartimekitchen.com/?p=465  
> ** There are 2240 pounds in an imperial ton in the UK and the USA. This would be about 1016 kilograms, just slightly more than a metric tonne.


	17. A new girl - September 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second daughter of the first Queen, Miriam, starts at Miss Raven's school.

Diana, the Amaranth Queen, took her responsibilities as Queen very seriously, so when the new term started, she constantly monitored the arrival of new girls, and made sure that someone responsible in their form was deputised to show them around and make them feel welcome. Some new girls were evacuees, and they were often diffident and shy of the students who had been at the school for some time.   
But one new girl Diana knew would not need much in the way of familiarisation with the school, although she might feel a little awkward. This was Cicely Dancer, daughter of Miriam Honor,* who had been the first Hamlet Club Queen, and sister of Mirry, who was the Forget-Me-Not Queen. Mirry had left the school the year after she was Queen, finding it difficult to fit in any more, when Marigold Fraser and Janice Raymond were so effectively running the club. Diana had met her often at recent club meetings, but she knew Mirry and her younger sister Cicely had attended boarding school together for the last few years.   
The older Miriam and Cicely had each named a daughter Cicely, in Cicely’s case for her mother and herself, at her husband’s insistence, and in Miriam’s for her best friend, the President herself. Miriam’s Cicely had elected to go as a day girl to her mother’s old school, after Mirry had finished at the boarding school they previously both attended. Now fourteen, Cicely was as fair as her mother, and as tall.   
“Hello Cicely,” said Diana, “welcome to the school. It’s nice to see you.”  
“Thanks,” said Cicely, “I am really pleased to be starting school here.”  
There was a little silence. “Shall I ask one of your form to show you around?” asked Diana diffidently.  
“I would like to meet some of the girls, but I know my way around already, thank you,” said Cicely, much as Diana had expected.  
“Will you like to join some of the clubs?” asked Diana. “Do you play sport?”  
“Tennis, cricket in summer, hockey in winter. Is there a choir?” said Cicely.  
“Why, no!” said Diana, surprised at this question. “We have an orchestra. But, no, we don’t have a formal choir. Everyone sings at assembly, of course.”  
“Louise,” called Diana, as she perceived a group of girls likely to be in the same form as Cicely. “This is a new girl, Cicely Dancer. Cicely, this is Louise Carter. Louise, can you show her your form room and where to hang her hat and coat please? Have a good day, Cicely, and I am sure Louise will look after you.”  
“Hello, Louise,” said Cicely. “Thank you, Diana, I won’t need much looking after.”  
“And that just shows you, Queen Amaranth, not to think yourself too important. Not everyone needs your help,” thought Diana to herself, as she turned away to find a more grateful recipient of her favours, in a weeping little junior.   
“Is your last name really Dancer?” said Louise, looking appreciatively at the tall and pretty new girl, with long yellow plaits. “I bet you will belong to the Hamlet Club, with a name like that.”  
“Yes, it is,” said Cicely, with a hostile edge to her voice. “Why, do you think it’s funny? Haven’t you ever been through the hamlet of Dancer? It is not that far from here. That’s my family name, for the hamlet.”  
“Oh, it’s not funny really,” said Louise hastily. “Just a little unusual, that’s all. I haven’t lived here long, so I don’t know that hamlet.” “My goodness,” Louise thought to herself, “her name should be ‘danger’, not ‘dancer’. I’d better be careful to introduce her properly!”  
“Where is your home?” said Cicely, mollified by Louise’s explanation. “Are you an evacuee?”  
“In a way,” said Louise. “My family lives on the east coast – Navy – and the school I was at had to close after bombing, so I was sent here as a boarder. I have been here six months.”  
“I grew up in this area, but I was at another boarding school with my sister, until she left,” said Cicely briefly. She was looking around as Louise led her through corridors to their form room. “There don’t seem to be very many older girls.”  
“No,” said Louise, “quite a few have left to join up. But there are some who are staying on to finish school – the Marchwood twins, for example. Elizabeth is Head Girl, you know.”  
“I know the Marchwoods, quite well. My mother and their mother are old friends,” said Cicely absently. Then she saw someone she knew.   
“Cissy,” she called softly. “Louise, thank you for showing me around, but I see my friend from home over there. Do you mind if I go and say hello to her?”  
“Of course not,” said Louise, vastly relieved, but surprised to see Cicely walk over to talk to a girl in a higher form.   
“How are you settling in, Cicely?” asked her friend Cissy. The two girls’ mothers, Miriam and Cicely, were best friends since their school days, and the girls had grown up together. Cissy, mild and withdrawn, and a year older, had always been found by the hot-tempered Cicely to be a most satisfying friend, willing to trustingly follow her wildest schemes, and able to allay parental concern or annoyance. Nobody was ever cross with Cissy.**   
“Everyone seems to think I need looking after,” said Cicely, grumpily.   
“That’s just their way,” said Cissy. “Not everyone is as bold as you. I liked to be looked after on my first day.”  
“You would,” said Cicely. “Not me, though. We are quite different. You are more like Mirry’s sister than I am!”  
“Just as well we are different,” said Cissy. “Nobody would want two of me, or two of you.”  
“You are a good stick, Cissy,” said Cicely. “No-one else would put up with me.”  
“May I give you a little advice?” said Cissy reluctantly. “Just try to be friendly, a little. People will be nice to you if you are nice to them. Just say thank you sometimes, and ask people about themselves. It will make all the difference to what they think of you. And that does matter at school, or you might have an awful time.”  
“I suppose I could try. I did want to come here after all. It would be a bit silly to make everyone hate me!” And to Cissy’s relief, over the next few days she was able to observe Cicely, or Celia, as Cissy’s mother called her, laughing and joking with her new school mates.  
Cissy had always moved through her school days quietly, without much fuss, or notice. Celia, as everyone took to calling her, at her invitation, was bound to attract notice, with her height, hair, and prominent manner. And she had one other asset which was soon to come to the notice of her classmates, and then, the whole school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I could find no reference to a married name for Miriam Honor, nor any reference to her marrying a cousin with the same name. I chose the name Dancer, because there really is a hamlet of that name, and like Honor, and Puddephat, is a name common to the area.   
> ** Cissy inspires the same trust in grownups as Dorothea Callum in Arthur Ransome’s “Winter Holiday”.


	18. Cicely’s Asset - September 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicely makes her mark in the school with a valued asset.

There was a new music teacher at school. Singing at Miss Raven’s school had previously been purely to sing the hymns at assembly. There had been music teachers, but only for individual tuition. This teacher was not only giving tuition in piano, but there were to be weekly singing classes, an innovation.  
“Girls, our new music teacher has suggested that it would be an important part of the curriculum for you to engage in group singing. As she has pointed out, there are advantages for your health, as well as for those of you who may go on to lead groups in the community, such as in parish churches or as school teachers. We will also be preparing regular concerts, in conjunction with the school orchestra, to entertain the service men and women in the nearby areas. Therefore, Miss Bellanne will take each form for a half hour singing lesson each week.”  
There was a suppressed murmur through the assembled school, as pretty Miss Bellanne stood in her place to be introduced by the Head. “Singing classes will start next week,” said Miss Raven, “when Miss Bellanne has been able to relocate to the area.”  
“It’s Lindy!” said one excited voice, quickly quelled by a frown from her form teacher.   
“Mother!” said Rosemary Marchwood that evening when she reached home after school. “Did you know Miss Belinda Bellanne was coming to teach at our school?”  
“Yes Rosemary, Aunty Joy told me. The school urgently wanted a new singing teacher. Aunt Maidlin recommended her and the Head liked her, so she got the job! She will be staying with Aunty Joy during term time. She and Sir Ivor will be working on some new concerts as well. And of course, her wedding is coming up in December! So it all fitted in very well.”  
“Lindy has been performing on the Singing Together* program on the BBC and also during concerts in the National Gallery,” explained Joy over dinner that night. “Miss Raven would like her students to know some of the old and new songs that have been composed in the British Isles, and asked Lindy to come, especially to teach you.”  
“That’s a lovely idea,” said Elizabeth. “I am sure people in the services will enjoy hearing songs from their homes. We’ll know lots already in the Hamlet Club I think.”  
Lindy’s first lesson for Cicely’s form was held the following week. At first Lindy didn’t ask anyone to sing on their own, but led them in a few songs they already knew, including nursery rhymes which made them all laugh. Then she offered to teach them a new song, and there was an enthusiastic response.   
“It’s a very old song called “The Seasons”,” explained Lindy, “and it was collected by the man who wrote the hymn “Onward Christian Soldiers.” I am sure you all know that one?” **  
Everyone nodded. Lindy went on. “This song talks about each of the months in turn, and every verse can be sung by a different person, or we can all sing it together. We can try soloists and see how we get on. Who would like to try as a soloist?”  
The girls all looked at each other. Nobody was keen to go first. Then Cicely put up her hand.   
“I wouldn’t mind trying,” she said.   
“Come out the front then, please. What’s your name? Cicely? All right, then, let’s see how we go,” said Lindy kindly, pleased that someone had volunteered. “I will play the tune through, and sing the first verse on my own. You can join in on the second verse, or whenever you are ready.”  
The girls listened, astonished, as Lindy’s strong well trained soprano voice pealed out over her own piano accompaniment. This was a very different type of music lesson than they were used to.  
At the end of the first verse, Lindy looked expectantly at Cicely, who had stood beside her, watching the music as she played, and moving her lips without any sound coming out as Lindy sang the first verse. Then, to the amazement of her classmates, and to Lindy herself, Cicely’s voice joined in with hers, almost as strong and with equal volume, if not equal purity and evidence of training.   
Together, they sang through the second verse, then Lindy stopped. “Would you like to go on alone?” she said, smiling. Cicely nodded, rather shyly for her, and Lindy played the accompaniment as Cicely sang on. Cicely altered her tone and volume sensitively, as Lindy varied the accompaniment to match the different lyrics for each month. Lindy kept playing through March and April, then nodded to Cicely and drew the music to a close. At the end, everyone clapped enthusiastically.   
“Well done, Cicely, that was splendid!” said Lindy. “Have you heard this song before?”  
“No,” said Cicely, “but I can tell it is a really old country song. It is the kind that my Mother likes to sing.”  
“Thank you for being such a sport,” said Lindy, “Would someone else like to have a turn?”  
Abashed, everyone else sat in silence. No-one was going to volunteer after that performance.  
“Ah, I see I have a lot of shy blushing maidens here in this class,” laughed Lindy. “I think I heard a very pleasant voice coming from over here,” she said, pouncing on Louise, who protested vainly as Lindy held out her hand to raise her to her feet. “What’s your name please?”  
“Louise,” said the hapless girl, almost in a whisper.   
“Why don’t you and Cicely sing the next two verses together?”  
“Alright,” said Louise, very nervously. But as the music started again, and she essayed to sing the next verse, she found that, instead of dominating her voice, Cicely moderated her volume to match hers, and the two voices blended together in a pleasing way. Relieved, Louise gathered confidence and even smiled a little at Cicely as they sang together through to the end of the verses for the months of May and June.  
“See how easy it is?” said Lindy. “Why don’t you have a turn with Louise and Cicely?” She rounded on another victim, who had carried the tune well in the previous songs.   
By the end of the song, four girls were singing together, and Cicely had even begun to harmonise with them, weaving a quiet descant against their voices.   
“Brava, girls,” said Lindy, “that was really lovely. I can see we are going to be able to have some good performances for our concerts. Cicely, will you wait a moment please after class?”  
As the room emptied, Lindy turned to Cicely. “Have you had lessons, Cicely? Your voice is really something out of the ordinary.”  
“Mother has always sung,” replied Cicely. “She sent me to her old music master for a few lessons last year, and there was a singing teacher at my last school who was quite keen on my voice.”  
“I’m not surprised,” said Lindy. “Do you have any thoughts about studying after you leave school?”  
“I haven’t really thought about it much,” said Cicely. “Singing is just something I have always done.”  
“Well,” said Lindy cautiously, “of course you and your mother would have to discuss it, but I think you should consider applying for a scholarship to the Royal College of Music. You may well have a future as a singer.”  
“Thank you,” said Cicely, her heart leaping. “I will talk to Mother. Do you think I can sing in some of the concerts?”  
“I’m depending on you, your voice is a big asset,” said Lindy briskly. “Now, scoot, you should get to your next class or I will be in trouble!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The “Singing Together” program on the BBC was broadcast every Monday morning throughout the British Isles, and nearly all schools tuned in every week. https://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-30210485   
> ** The remarkable collection known as “Songs and Ballads of the West” was made by Sabine Baring-Gould. You can read the whole thing here, including the music and lyrics, with annotations for most songs: https://archive.org/details/songsballadsofwe00bari/page/40/mode/1up?q=The+Seasons


	19. “Make do and mend” - October 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No clothing coupons left - and the twins are growing out of their clothes!

“I’m a bit sick of always wearing the same frocks, Mother,” said Margaret impatiently at breakfast. “I know it’s silly of me, but we haven’t had a new dancing frock in ages, and I think I have grown a bit!”  
“Let me look, Margaret,” said Joy, frowning as she noted the shortness of the hem on Margaret’s brown dance frock as she held it up against her. “Gracious, you have shot up this last twelve months. Elizabeth too, I expect.”  
“Can we have new dance frocks, Mother?” said Elizabeth. “Or are there not enough coupons for that at the moment? Our white frocks are short too, and we have some orchestra performances coming up. I can’t play my ‘cello in a short dress! And there is Lindy’s wedding! Will we get new frocks for that, do you think?”  
“We are a little tight for coupons at present,” said Joy. “Getting the younger children ready for school meant we had to use a few more than usual. Perhaps there are some of my frocks that can be made over to fit you two. They may be a little old fashioned but at least we know the colours will suit you. Mary is a whizz at sewing, aren’t you Mary?”  
“Perhaps for simple things like tunics, and simple straight robes, but I don’t know about making over a whole frock, Joy,” said Mary. “But you know the phrase, ‘Make Do and Mend’. I’m prepared to try!”  
Joy related this conversation to Jen, the next time they met. “The girls have been very good,” said Joy, “and haven’t complained before. But it is a bit beyond the pale for poor Margaret and Elizabeth’s legs to be showing so much below the hem. I think we have let their frocks down twice already and there is no more hem to spare. And we do have to think about Lindy’s wedding.”  
“I wonder,” said Jen, “if the girls might be interested in some of my old things. I have a few really nice old white frocks that they are welcome to. They will certainly be long enough! And do you remember the jumpers I used to knit, Joy? I had quite a passion for knitting during the year I left school and went to live up with Mother and Daddy again. I’ve kept them all in my camphor wood chest, and I am sure they are as good as new. I was such a bean pole, I am sure they would fit the twins.”  
“I will send them over on a pretext, Jen, and you can come up with a clever way to show them the frocks and the jumpers.”  
“Aunty Jen has some late plums that need picking for the next jam session, girls,” said Joy casually next morning. “It’s a lovely day, so why don’t you take your buckets over and pick them, then ask Aunty Jen if you can bring back a few for Cook to stew for our pudding today?”  
Elizabeth and Margaret loved to visit their cousins, and aunt and uncle, so it was never a trial to take the walk through the Abbey and up the lane way to the Manor, past the lake. Margaret always shivered a little at the sight of the tree from which she had fallen more than ten years ago, but the tree had brought Anne and Belinda Bellanne into their circle, and what a blessing that had been.*   
Belinda was going to marry Donald Robertson, Jock’s nephew, late that autumn, and the twins were to be bridesmaids yet again. “I’m glad I am not superstitious,” said Joy occasionally, “or I would believe the twins would never get married! ‘Three times a bridesmaid, never a bride’ – I’ve lost count of how many weddings the twins have officiated at, including my own!”  
The twins duly inspected the plum trees, and found enough to fill their buckets. They walked up to the pretty summer terrace where Jen liked to spend her mornings, usually with her latest baby. Simon was now much more than a baby, approaching three, but he loved playing at his mother’s feet with his blocks and train. His bigger twin brothers tended to play together, and he liked the quiet time with his mother, and his sister Barbara. The little three-year-old evacuee, Doris, was also in the group.   
“Hello girls,” said Jen gaily, as she saw them approaching. “Come and have a cup of tea with me.”  
Elizabeth sat down with Simon, Doris and Barbara on the ground at Jen’s feet, and engaged in the earnest talk the little children loved. Margaret pounced on the buttered fruit loaf and claimed a slice.   
“We picked your plums, Aunty Jen,” she said, “but Mother asked if we could bring a few home, please. What have you got there, Aunty?”  
For Jen was shaking and folding a set of bright jumpers, in a range of glowing jewel-like colours – emerald, amethyst, topaz, sapphire blue and ruby, as well as a warm chestnut brown and soft grey.   
“What, these old things?” said Jen casually. “I knitted these when I was about your age and was going through a craze of knitting. I hated the dull colours of the winter and decided to brighten things up a little.”**  
“You must have been a really good knitter, Aunty Jen. They are lovely colours. Do you still use them?” said Margaret.   
“Goodness, no,” said Jen. “They won’t fit me anymore; I have rounded out a bit since I was your age. And they don’t really suit me now. I was just airing them.”  
“What were you planning to do with them, Aunty Jen,” said Elizabeth, with interest, as she alternately balanced blocks in a tower for Simon, and helped Barbara and Doris with a puzzle. “Are they for Rosemary and Katharine?”  
“I could keep them that long,” said Jen, “but it will be a few years before Rosemary or Katharine will fit into them. I was thinking someone else might like them, now that we have to make do with what we have. They could be unravelled and knitted into new things.”  
“Oh no,” chorused the twins, “they are much too pretty to unravel.”  
“Aunty Jen,” said Margaret tentatively, “may I try on the emerald one, please?”  
“And I love the amethyst one,” said Elizabeth. “It reminds me of Aunty Joan’s dance frock.”  
“Well of course you may,” said Jen heartily. “Try any, or all, of them on, I don’t mind.”  
The girls picked up the pile of jumpers, and ran inside to invade the surprised Rosemary’s bedroom. Laughing, they pulled off their blouses and pulled the colourful jumpers over their heads.   
“Oh, they are lovely,” said Elizabeth, always appreciative of colour. “They suit us, twin. Try the chestnut one! Do you think Aunty might let us have them before they fit Rosemary and Katharine?”  
“But they are for you,” said Rosemary in surprise. “Didn’t Mother tell you?”  
“Rosemary, Rosemary, you have given me away,” laughed Jen from the bedroom door. She had walked slowly up the stairs at Barbara and Simon’s pace, holding Doris’s hand, and was leaning on the door frame, admiring the effect of the colours against the bright bronze heads.   
“They are indeed for you, twins. Your mother told me you were growing out of your clothes, and you are probably getting sick of them as well! I wouldn’t blame you. Everyone needs a freshen up sometimes; the evacuees are always choosing new clothes from the depot, so why not you two? If you have anything pretty, but too small, that might suit Rosemary or Katharine, we can do a swap, if you like. But I would leave the ruby red here, if I were you. Now, come and look at white frocks.”  
“Thank goodness for you, Aunty Jen,” said Margaret, admiring herself in a mirror in Jen’s dressing room, clad in a long white frock. “How could we go to a wedding or concert with our dresses round our knees?”  
The twins danced home wearing their new jumpers, Margaret holding the plums and Elizabeth an armful of frocks, and, seeing them in the bright amethyst and emerald, Joy remembered with deep gratitude the distant days when a young Jen Robins had first danced through the lanes of the Abbey and the Hall, drawing light behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * See "Maid of the Abbey"  
> ** See "The Abbey Girls Go Back to School", Chapter VI


	20. A war wedding - November 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding in winter

The planning for Lindy’s wedding was well under way. Anne Bellanne was proudly producing a wedding cake, having carefully stored dried fruits and sugar over a number of months, with Maidlin’s hearty agreement. Two dozen eggs from the hens at Rayley, the Manor and the Pallant would go into the four layers of cake. Anne was determined that her sister’s wedding would be everything a wedding should be, regardless of the war.   
A store was also being set by for Janice’s wedding, which would not take place for another year. To be planning for her only sister’s wedding, as well as for the daughter of the owner of the Abbey, was a great joy and honour to Anne.   
Lindy had asked if Marjory and Dorothy Robertson, whom she had lived with for three years, might be her bridesmaids, along with the Marchwood twins, to whom she had been governess for a year or two, including in New York. Since the Robertson twins were Donald’s cousins, he too was delighted that they might be part of the wedding. Littlejan Fraser, who had been Lindy’s confidante and, at one time, chaperone, was to be matron of honour.   
Maidlin and Jock brought their children to stay at Joy and Ivor’s house, the night before the wedding. The two little girls and two little boys were whisked off by their unofficial aunts, the Marchwood twins, to play with Joy’s little boys and daughter Maidie-Rose, while the adults enjoyed afternoon tea in the hall. The late November sunshine was not warm enough to sit outside.   
Donald was staying with Jen and Ken, while Lindy and Anne Bellanne had been claimed by Littlejan, with whom she had been close friends since they first met. “A wedding from the Herb Garden!” exclaimed Littlejan. “Every house needs a wedding before it’s truly grown.”*  
“Houses aren’t grown,” said her mother, laughing. “This one was,” retorted Littlejan. “It grew out of the monks’ herb garden. They planted the seeds for it long ago.”  
Anne Bellanne enjoyed the Herb Garden’s spacious modern kitchen, surpassing even Maidlin’s in its modern appliances, preparing for the final touches to Lindy’s beautiful cake. Anne had invested all her creative energies, that she had thought left behind with her failed cake shop of years ago, into this creation. It reflected Lindy’s love of Maidlin’s flower terraces, which at this time of the year, although sparser than usual, had provided the winter jasmine for her bouquet and the inspiration for the cake’s decoration. Luckily Anne had kept all the paraphernalia associated with cake baking and icing, and so everything was in readiness for the assembly of the layers of the cake, and its final decoration.  
“Lindy asked the two sets of twins, and Littlejan, to wear white frocks, and she has made them yellow girdles to knot around their waists, in the exact shade of winter jasmine. They will look like rays of winter sunshine,” said Maidlin to her friends at the Hall, thrilled that her protégé Lindy was finally able to marry her man.  
“They are busy turning some of the sprays of winter jasmine into little coronets for each of them,” said Joy. “They will look like a little parade of Hamlet Queens and maids.”  
“I think that was the effect Lindy was hoping for,” said Jen. “She was never a May Queen of course, although she was a maid of honour once, to Maidlin, but she gets her own maids and flower bouquet at her wedding.”  
“Where will they go after the wedding?” said Mary-Dorothy.   
“Lindy would have loved Vairy Castle,” said Maidlin, “but of course Rosamund’s big family is there, and besides, in December and January Scotland is not good for walking and picnics and that sort of thing. Quellyn was another possibility, but again, Robin and Rob have quite a few evacuees there, and, well, Wales in winter! I leave it to your imagination.”  
“We have offered them Step Down as their home for as long as they like,” Maidlin continued. “It’s just right for two, and has heating and a good bathroom now. There is a good roadway past the cottage, and Jock created a little shelter for a car to be parked, so the driver doesn’t have to walk from the nearby garage any more, a real bonus in winter. They will start looking for their own house to buy, or perhaps land to build on near there.”  
“Do you think it’s safe there?” said Joy. She and Ivor had been concerned about Maidlin’s own safety in Sussex, given that the Kane family had been forced to evacuate. Step Down was even closer to the coast.   
“It was that for them, or London,” said Maidlin, somewhat troubled. “There is a branch of Donald’s engineering firm at Worthing, to which he was able to relocate. I think I would rather them in a quiet spot like the cottage, than even in a town like Worthing. Of course, no-one can visit them there since it is within five miles of the coast. But they can come to see us.”  
Lindy’s wedding was everything she had dreamed it might be. Each of her five attendants wore simple white frocks, with fresh yellow sashes, the exact shade of their small bouquets of sprays of winter jasmine. Six-year-old twins Marjory and Dorothy led the procession, their little faces earnest under their fringes of dark brown hair.  
“The little twins remind me of Hermione and Rosemary at Rosalind’s wedding,” whispered Jen to her husband. “You would have thought they were to conduct the ceremony themselves, so serious were they.”  
Elizabeth and Margaret, their faces serene and composed, followed on from the smaller twins, and not a few people commented on the striking girls, each now with a long red plait over one shoulder. Behind them came Littlejan, unable to suppress a wide smile of happiness at leading in her friend Belinda.  
Lindy herself carried a great sheaf of yellow flowering winter jasmine, which cascaded half way down her long white frock, and she wore her mother’s creamy veil, held to her head with a spray of flowers.   
Donald held his breath for a moment as his golden-haired bride walked up the aisle on the arm of his uncle, Jock Robertson, and counted himself the luckiest man on Earth. A crowd of friends and well-wishers gathered in the village church, and the simple ceremony, pledging love and lifelong care, carried new significance, when so many were in uniform.  
At the reception, held in the village hall, everyone exclaimed at the beautiful four-tiered cake. The two top layers were decorated in fine interwoven pale green lines delicately painted on the royal icing, to represent twining stems of jasmine, with small yellow flowers and tiny green leaves made of the icing attached at intervals along the stems. Around the base of each layer were tiny perfect spheres in green icing, and tied around the second layer was a thin green ribbon. The whole effect was restrained and elegant, and not a few people made a mental note to enquire as to the artistic hand that had created it.   
An array of sandwiches, delicacies, pastries and small hot foodstuffs was arranged on the long tables, covered in white cloths, with clear glass vases containing white winter roses down the centre of each table.   
“Does Donald work?” said Ivor to Ken, as they both helped themselves to some of the ample food available.   
“Yes, he went to the University of Cape Town when he went back to South Africa, about six years ago, and studied to become a mining engineer,’ said Kenneth. “He is employed in quite a big firm. They advise on mining and construction here and overseas. That puts him in an exempt employment category, so he won’t be signing up unless he chooses to, or they change the exemptions list,” said Ken. “It’s likely that many conscripts are going to be sent into mining, according to Geoffrey Kane. There just are not enough men to do the work. Men from all sorts of backgrounds are going into mining, just to keep production and energy going.”  
As Lindy’s husband, Ivor knew he was going to have quite a bit to do with him; he made an effort to talk to Donald, now that he knew a little more of his background and work.   
The wedding over, the happy couple retreated down to their cottage in Sussex, and it was just as well they hadn’t planned a more expansive honeymoon journey, for the whole of the British Isles and much of Europe was buried under snow for the next many weeks, in another freezing war winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This statement is an echo of something Marilla Cuthbert says in Chapter 2 of L.M. Montgomery’s “Anne’s House of Dreams”: "When I was a child I heard an old minister say that a house was not a real home until it had been consecrated by a birth, a wedding and a death.”


	21. The Loss of a Queen - May 10-11, 1941

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tragedy befalls an English institution

“I heard that ’The Dream of Gerontius’ is being performed at Queen’s Hall in May,” said Jock Robertson to Maidlin, early in the new year. “I thought all concerts might be cancelled given the terrible bombing London has had, but I think everyone is inclined to go ahead as usual. Malcolm Sergeant is conducting.”  
“Which choir is performing?” asked Maidlin, as she deftly took a spoon from Malcolm before food was splattered onto her clothes.   
“I believe the English Choral Society will perform – the great amateur choir. But they may invite professional soloists and might need you for the Angel. How do you feel about it? It means going into London again.”  
“If everyone in that big choir is brave enough to go, so am I,” said Maidlin. “If we can take the car, then we won’t be away from the children for too long. Anne and Honesty can manage, I’m sure, but we can always get in extra help if needed. And I love to sing in Queen’s Hall. It always reminds me of our May Queens. I wonder if my wedding dress would stand another outing. I would love to wear it there, since it was intended for my first Queen’s Hall performance. I think I would still fit into it! I must try it on – Rosamund would be so pleased.”  
The drive into the city that day was quiet and the streets were not too busy. Jock dropped Maidlin off outside the Hall, then made his own way there after parking the car. The precious gown, made of fabric woven by the Countess before her own marriage, was carefully carried in its muslin bag. The weather all year had been cooler than usual, cloudy and wet.   
The National Gallery concerts were always popular, even though the art works were missing from the walls, making the experience an unusual one. There was only room, however, for soloists or small ensembles. Audiences were devoted regulars, and the small venue was usually full.   
But Queen’s Hall, with its perfect acoustic, its organ and the larger stage, which enabled an orchestra to perform, was another thing altogether, and a far larger audience was expected to make the effort to attend this concert, with its orchestra and choir, and the greater capacity of the hall.   
Sure enough, the concert, with Elgar’s sublime and stirring music, attracted a capacity crowd. Familiar with the part and totally at ease before the eager audience, Maidlin sang as perhaps never before, the sense of unity and purpose among the performers palpable. All the singers and orchestra caught the eager note of hopefulness in ‘The Angel’s’ voice, and were carried into a new realm of intensity. The small figure on the stage, in a wonderful shimmering gown of gold and silver, seemed like a star of hope among the darkness, and many eyes in the audience were not quite dry.*   
Maidlin’s great final solo, with its repeated ‘Amen’, was like a benediction. There was complete silence at the close for a few seconds, before the crash of applause and cheering broke out, to last for many minutes. Maidlin was pressed to return again and again to the platform on the arm of the conductor.   
Afterwards, Maidlin was, as usual, exhausted, and Jock whisked her into the car and away back down to Sussex, as soon as it was possible to leave the cluster of admiring people who so looked forward to her performances.   
A few days later, it was a saddened and bowed Jock who brought the papers in.   
“Maid, oh Maid, the Queen’s Hall is gone,” he said.   
“What do you mean, gone?” said Maidlin in amazement.   
“The raid on the night after you sang dropped an incendiary on the roof. It was put out, but reignited later, and the whole building and all it contained are destroyed.”  
“The instruments?” said Maid in a whisper. She knew what their loss would mean to the hundred or so musicians of the great London based orchestra with which she had performed.   
“Yes, all gone,” said Jock. “The violins, violas, flutes and so on may have gone home with their owners, but the brass, the percussion, harps, double basses, the organ – all destroyed. Think what they represent – not just the music, but the craft of all those wonderful instrument makers, gone.”   
“It is a dreadful thing,” said Maidlin sadly. “Even the string players may have thought their instruments safer in a protected hall with its own air raid wardens, than in their own homes … they may well have left them at the Hall in the hope they were safe. But was anyone hurt, Jock?”  
“Not according to the reports,” he said, “not in the Hall, although of course other buildings around the area had casualties. It was a very bad raid.”   
They both sat sadly, thinking of the loss to the nation and people that this represented, and those suffering and dying in the cities, every night that the bombs fell. The Proms had always been held in Queens Hall, and so many performers had loved the Hall for its beautiful sound. Both Jock and Maidlin had performed there many times.  
“We must let Rosamund and Joy know that you are safe,” said Jock. They would have heard the broadcast and be worried that you may have stayed in town, or worse, had a night time performance.”  
“I feel like we have lost one of our Queens,” said Maidlin drearily. “I will call Ros and Joy. We will see them at the May Queen crowning next week, so they can be sure I am well. It’s hard to keep up enthusiasm when everything is so dire on the war front.”  
“But it was a building, Maid, not people. We can make another. And there is still the Royal Albert Hall! And I do believe, that there have been very few bombings since,” said Jock. “Perhaps we have turned a corner.”  
“How will the orchestra be able to keep on playing?” said Maidlin. “Even with the Albert Hall, there just may not be enough instruments to go around. And one can’t ask another orchestra to lend theirs.”  
“Would they like my little violin?” said Dorothy, who had been started early on violin, and recently graduated to a bigger size. Both twins had been listening to their parents’ discussion with thoughtful wide eyes. “I don’t mind them having it. I feel sad for them.”  
“That’s very kind of you darling, but it is a little small for an orchestra,” said Maidlin. “Oh Jock, what if…?” Jock and Maidlin stared at each other, the same thought coming into their minds.   
“There must be many homes with idle instruments now… people who would rather see them played than have them as a sad reminder. Or who just don’t play any more, or whose relatives passed on unwanted instruments. Could we start an appeal?” said Jock.   
“Perhaps you could contact the Orchestra manager and see what he thinks. The BBC could broadcast an appeal!” suggested Maidlin.**  
The wheels started turning, and within a few weeks, sufficient instruments were donated that the orchestra might perform again. And among them, on extended loan, was a viola named Violetta.***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I have pinched a few words and mood from Elfrida Vipont’s wonderful work “The Lark on the Wing”, when Kit sings the “Hill of the Lord” for the first time in the Minster. But I certainly don’t write as well as Elfrida Vipont.   
> ** The London Philharmonic Orchestra lost all their instruments in the fire, and a public appeal brought sufficient donations of instruments for them to start playing again.  
> *** Violetta is Jock’s own viola – introduced in “Maid of the Abbey”. There was indeed a large successful public appeal to provide instruments to the London Philharmonic Orchestra, which lost most of its instruments in the destruction by fire of Queen’s Hall.


	22. Another year, another Queen  - May 1941

The friends all gathered again for the crowning of a new Queen, the thirtieth Queen of the Hamlet Club. There was great pride and happiness among all the earliest Queens, for Cicely, the second daughter of the first Queen, Miriam, was the new Queen.   
The outgoing Amaranth Queen, Diana, followed a long line of Queens and their maids, so long, in fact, that they could not all be accommodated on the stage. There were two levels of Queens, the first set of Queens on the stage, and the latest Queens on the floor of the hall in front of them. They made a beautiful tableau, with the colours of the white, gold, green, violet, blue, striped, brown, wild rose pink, and primrose Queens on the top level. The younger, more recent Queens, whose flowers were clover, heather, forget-me-not, marigold, lavender, rosemary, lupin, daisy and buttercup, were ranged in front. Rosamund, the Red Rose Queen, was away in Scotland, and she employed Lilac and Hyacinth Queens, so all three were unable to be present this year.   
Diana, resplendent in her glorious green and crimson robe, had a thick crown of forget-me-nots placed on her head by the twins, and then paraded back down the hall to welcome the new Queen.   
“You should hear her sing, Mother,” said Rosemary Marchwood. “I think she is as good as Belinda Bellanne!”  
The Hamlet Club had proudly listened to Cicely performing at the concerts for soldiers, singing in front of the orchestra, and many had joined the choir she had petitioned the Head to start. Cicely could affect the dignified charm of her mother, while her natural state held the gumption, and some would say, temper, of the President, who was a great friend. The votes for her were many when it came time to choose the new Queen.   
“I’m not having a plain old robe like you and Mother,” Cicely said to Mirry, who had become a Land Girl, and was raising sheep in Cumberland. “I want something bright, like the Striped Queen, or the Lupin Queen. I thought nasturtiums! They grow anywhere and take over everything, just like me.”  
Mary-Dorothy Devine had volunteered to help Margia Lane make the robe. Margia’s hands were now troubled by arthritis, and she found the delicate sewing difficult. Mary had enjoyed reviving her skills in sewing, making over dresses and clothing for the families at the Hall and Manor, and for evacuee children, and realised anew that she had something of a gift for design. It had been Mary who had designed and made many of the twins’ little outfits when they were small, smocking their colourful frocks and making the matching bloomers, into which their frocks could be tucked when they were playing in sandpits.  
“I always knew you were a design genius, Mary,” said Jen Marchwood, as she admired Cicely’s robe, “when you told me about your vision for your rooms. You were still living in that dingy flat, but had planned out all your dream rooms. Mirrors to reflect flowers! Green as a background for every type of flower! Brown and gold! My goodness, Mary-Dorothy, you are an artist through and through.”  
Together, Mary and Margia had designed the robe of Cicely’s dreams. With a soft green lining, the colour of nasturtium leaves, the robe was orange, similar to, but a lighter shade than Joan Fraser’s marigold colour. Fabric paint was now expensive and hard to obtain, so the friends decided to use cut work, and scraps of fabric left over from other robes, all carefully stored by Margia, were used to effect with applique.   
Leaf circles of various sizes were cut through around the edges of the robe to reveal the pale green, and Mary delicately embroidered their edges, working white lines radiating from the centre of each ‘leaf’ to represent the starry veins. Those lines also showed through on the inside of the robe. “Mary’s work is as neat on the inside as the outside,” marvelled Jen Marchwood. “I mastered knitting and crochet, but embroidery has me beat.”  
Then, nasturtium flowers shapes of soft yellow, made of precious pieces left over from Maidlin’s primrose robe, were appliqued on the robe among the leaves, with rambling tendrils, carefully worked by Cicely herself. A few of the orange circles were also cut into nasturtium shapes, and sewn onto the lining. The effect was very pleasing, and a bright contrast to the deep green and crimson of Diana’s robe.   
“Who will be your maid?” asked Mirry, intrigued by her sister’s bright choice.  
“Cissy, of course, my ‘twin’! You know, Cicely Everett. The colours will look lovely with her chestnut hair. Cicely-Two, the Countess calls her, and the Countess and Aunt Cicely call me Celia, so as not to get mixed up!”   
The crowning was especially moving for the first two Queens of the Hamlet Club. Their daughters, Queen and maid, processed up the centre of the school hall behind Diana, to the cheers of the onlookers. Cicely’s train was carefully carried by the older Cissy, who had a girdle in plaited pieces of yellow, green and orange around her waist, artfully joined and twisted by Mary from discarded fabric. They didn’t try to mount the crowded platform, but instead stood on the floor in front of all the former Queens, and Diana placed the white crown of narcissus on Cicely’s head.   
Cicely turned to address the audience. It had been eighteen years since a Queen had sung her ‘speech’ to the Club, when Maidlin had surprised everyone with the old tune written by the first Cicely. Thus it was a great surprise to all, including the older Queens, when a piano introduction was played and the younger Cicely’s voice pealed out in song. But it was not doggerel that was sung this time.   
Cicely had chosen the hymn to Elgar’s tune, “I Vow to Thee, My Country”, with words by Cecil Spring-Rice. At the moment of singing, Cicely, hitherto full of confidence and bravado in her choice, had begun to feel the weight of the responsibility of being Queen, among all these other Queens who represented such a history and commitment to the club. She has asked Miss Raven, and Miss Bellanne, their opinions, and the Head had given her permission, and Lindy her encouragement, to sing the hymn, but what would everyone else think?  
As she looked out into the audience, and saw Richard Everett and others in uniform, Cicely found, in the words “that lays upon the altar the dearest and the best”, almost unbearable pain. Her voice faltered a little, and she thought of her mother sitting behind her on the stage, willing her on to continue singing. Cicely closed her eyes, and sang, and as the song progressed, her voice gained a simplicity and purity, that, in her confidence and zeal, had been missing before. The final words, “and her ways are ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace”, were delivered with softness and delicacy, and an almost imperceptible slowing of tempo. There was a poignant silence at the end, and Cicely sat down, a little confused, wondering if she had done something wrong.  
Miss Raven stood, and cleared her throat. “Thank you Cicely, for bringing us all a message of service and a hope for peace. Our May Queen ceremonies have always celebrated the season of spring, of youth and joy. This year, and the last, with their legacy of sorrow, see us also celebrating service and sacrifice, but ultimately, we hope, a return to joy and peace. We all thank you for the message you sang so beautifully, and we honour you for your choice. Now, the Club would like to dance for you, so please let us welcome our new Queen, and then let the dancing begin!” Then the applause broke out, led by Miss Raven. Many eyes in the audience and on the stage were not quite dry.   
Twenty Queens had attended the crowning, and the stage and floor were crowded, with Queens and maids in attendance. The Queens rose to their feet, their maids carefully lifting the colourful trains over their arms to avoid any trips or stumbles. Janice Raymond had tears running unashamedly down her face when she embraced Cicely. The next time Janice was in a procession, she would be married to Richard Everett. Not only Cicely had found the experience of seeing Richard sitting in the audience in his uniform a cause for sadness.  
“That was beautiful, Cicely, thank you,” said Janice.   
“Yes indeed, well done, little Celia,” said the first Cicely, the President of the Club, who had watched her namesake grow all her life, and had given her a ‘little name’ to avoid confusion. “And your robe is beautiful! What will they call you at school? Nasturtium is a bit of a mouthful! Its other common name is Indian Cress. Queen Indian Cress is not so appealing.”  
“I have heard Rosemary Marchwood mentioning Nasta,” said Janice with amusement.  
“That’s a little like Nesta, the Honesty Queen’s name,” laughed the President. “And, also like Nanta, the Lavender Queen’s ‘little’ name.”  
“So it is,” said the new Queen, pleased at the similarities. Aunty Nesta was an old friend, and Lady Rosalind a much-admired former Queen. “Well, they can’t call me Shum, so Nasta it is. But I hope they say Nasturtium in full. It’s only as many syllables as Lavender and Rosemary and Marigold, after all!”  
The two Cicelys took each other’s hands and walked together to change so that they could take part in the Hamlet Club’s dancing. For there was still a time to dance, and a time to rejoice.


	23. Heather comes back - May 1941

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Heather Queen has not been to a crowning for years. Is she welcome?

The President turned to welcome the Heather Queen, who, much to everyone’s surprise, had appeared to take her place in the procession. “Agnes, how lovely to see you here,” said Cicely. “It is such a thrill to see your lovely robe in the procession again.”  
Agnes, the Heather Queen, looked a little abashed. “I know it has been quite a while,” she said. “I hoped the club might have forgiven me by now. I know I was a pretty useless Queen.”  
“None of us was a perfect Queen. Goodness, I left for Ceylon a few weeks after my crowning, and they had to choose a new Queen, Marguerite! And Jen Marchwood was there for less than half her reign! No need to think about the past,” said Cicely, leading Agnes to meet Miss Raven.   
“How thrilled Miriam must be that her second daughter is also Queen, as well as Mirry,” said Agnes. She hesitated a moment. “I noticed that maids carried a flower crown for each of Strawberry, Ivy, Bluebell and Poppy, and any other Queens not present. Did they ever do that for me too?” she said, as they waited for Miss Raven to finish speaking to one of her guests.   
“It’s a fairly new tradition,” said Cicely, “created a few years ago when our Marigold Queen was unable to be present. It seemed right to remember the Queens who couldn’t attend, so yes, we do it now for any Queen who can’t be here. That’s why we had a heather crown for you to wear!” Cicely gestured to Heather’s crown. Heather had been surprised and delighted to find a crown waiting for her, along with a designated maid, as the Queens assembled. She had brought her own small bouquet of heather. “Muriel, the Blue or Speedwell Queen, only attended for the first time in years, last year.”  
“That’s very kind,” said Heather quietly, much touched by the gesture.   
Miss Raven greeted her, always keen to meet a Queen who had been before her time as Head, and thanked her for attending. As Miss Raven moved on to other guests, the Heather Queen nodded to a few acquaintances in the audience, and to Cicely’s surprise, they included Ivor and Jock, who both inclined their heads and smiled at the Heather Queen.   
“Come and meet some of our younger Queens,” said Cicely encouragingly, while wondering at the acquaintance. “What are you doing at the moment?”  
“I’ve started work in the area,” said Agnes. “That’s why I thought I might make the effort to get here today, being so close by.”  
Cicely knew no further questions could be asked or answered, and understood the recognition shown by Jock and Ivor. The WVS senior staff members were aware that the buildings of Bletchley and other locations nearby were likely being used for more than just stores and management, but secrecy was essential and Cicely, like everyone else in the district, was none the wiser about their true purpose, nor wished to be.   
“Janice Raymond, Joan Fraser, this is Agnes, our Heather Queen.” Cicely fixed a meaningful look at each former Queen, trusting them to forget any previous references they had heard to the Heather Queen in club gossip. After all, everyone had forgiven Phyl, the recent Wallflower Queen, for her inattention to the club during her reign, and Phyl had let the club down on many occasions.   
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” said the Heather Queen cordially. “Janice, are the twin Queens your sisters? You look so alike.”  
“Yes, Margaret and Elizabeth Marchwood are my second cousins,” said Janice. “You may remember my mother Joan, and her cousin Joy? The Violet and Green Queens. Aunty Joy, Lady Quellyn, is the twins’ mother.”  
“Lady Quellyn and the twins were in the USA when I was crowned, I believe,” reflected the Heather Queen, showing that she knew something of Joy’s history. “There were nine Queens at my crowning, and I was the nineteenth Queen. So many people were away or having babies. I think Beatrice, the Striped Queen, and the Garden Queen were also in the USA with Lady Quellyn? Cicely is a lucky girl to have so many here today. The thirtieth Queen, quite a milestone for the club.”  
“Indeed, she is lucky,” agreed Joan heartily. “Did you grow up in the area, Agnes? You may like to visit the Abbey again. Did you know that we have found the Abbey bells and the tithe barn? Oh, yes, of course, you were at Rosemary Queen’s crowning, but I wasn’t introduced to you then. We had found the tithe barn only the year before.”  
“Yes,” said Agnes, “that was the only crowning I have attended in the last many years, I am afraid, other than this one. I would like to see the Abbey and the barn again, though.”  
“Janice is currently the guide, when the Abbey is open at weekends. You might also like to visit me and see my new home? My husband, Len Fraser, and I have built a house just beyond the Abbey walls, due to the kindness of Janice’s mother, Mrs Raymond. It’s the site of the old herb garden of the Abbey,” continued Joan, cordially.  
“Are you that Mrs Fraser?” said the Heather Queen, a genuine smile breaking out on her face. “Of course, I have heard of your husband, and his brave action in saving Dr Hamilton. I worked for Dr Hamilton at Oxford for a time, before the expedition.”  
“Oh, you must come and meet my husband,” said Joan, taking Agnes’ arm and leading her down the stairs of the stage and into the hall.   
“That’s a lucky coincidence,” murmured Miriam to Jen, who happened to be standing by her. “If Joan Fraser takes Heather Queen under her wing she will be completely accepted by the club. Now we just need to find Ivy, Bluebell and Poppy again. I wonder if anyone knows anything about them? Like, Heather, they came to Rosemary’s Queen’s crowning, but we haven’t seen them since. That’s eight years ago, I think. Perhaps they felt a little out of things, with so many of the old crowd and their families back on the scene.”  
“I’m glad about the Heather Queen,” said Jen soberly. “I don’t know much about that time in the club’s history, but if a rift is healed then that can only be good.”


	24. New friends - October, 1941

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosamund makes some new friends.

Far in the north, Rosamund Kane, Countess of Kentisbury, was restless. The company of her husband, Geoffrey, was always interesting, with his grasp of foreign affairs and love of reading. To keep him company, Rosamund had pursued an awakening interest in history. She had surprised herself by being completely engrossed in the novels of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, whose books for so long had ‘glared at her’, as she put it, from the library shelves. She had also turned again to her piano, which had been neglected since her school days, and, sometimes, even then.*   
“With Joy and Maidlin, playing the piano was a bit intimidating,” she laughed to Patricia and Rosalin, who enjoyed hearing her play. They would occasionally request a reel or minuet and dance together, for both were well trained in Scottish folk dances. The many children of the Countess and her friends were all being taught to dance as well, and enjoyed cavorting around the hall as Rosamund played.  
But Geoffrey was away in London, attending Parliament, and would not return for a month. Rosamund’s children were all capably cared for by her team of nurses, some of whom had returned to work for her, following their own marriages. Agatha, Molly and May, with other younger nurses, now bore new surnames, but were loving attendants on the two sets of twins; Hugh, whose title was Lord Verriton; Geoff and Peter. Roddy had started school at the same northern based school where Alastair and Alan Fraser, John Raymond, and Andrew and Tony Marchwood were all happy and respected seniors. Thus, her Ladyship was not needed for a few hours after she had spent time with her children, paying each as much individual attention as she could, and she yearned for some adult activity to balance out her days.   
“Joy, Jen and Joan, with Mary and Jandy, all have such a busy time with the WI in Buckinghamshire, Maid is doing her concerts regularly, and Littlejan has Len and John to look after,” she thought. “I can’t ask any of them up here to visit. Benedicta is busy in the garden, or I would ask her. Patch and Rosalin have been best friends for years, and with Patch’s babies, keep each other company. Anne Manley’s new marriage keeps her busy. I can’t say I am lonely, with Patch and Rosalin and the children, but there is something missing when Geoffrey is away. There is only one thing for it, and that’s to make new friends in this area,” and Rosamund resolved to act. “I believe this letter arrived at just the right time.”  
Rosamund folded a letter she had received from Jen Marchwood. She smiled as Patricia Kane and Rosalin Black, her house guests and cousins, in Patricia’s case by marriage, came into the room, followed by the tea, carried by the littlest maid in the castle.   
“Jen says that Ken’s cousin Simon Marchwood** with his wife Jean, is at the Gordon family home, Kilaidan, on the other side of Loch Shee,” she told them, after having tea. “They are coming to visit Jean’s niece, Carolyn, who is back from Canada. I think they call her ‘the Lintie’? I want to invite the Marchwoods and the niece across for lunch next week. And I thought of asking Mrs Gilmour over at Twinkle Tap too. I believe she is a special friend of Jean’s, and has been very kind to Damaris and Brian. Did either of you know the Gordons, or Mrs Gilmour when you were younger, Patch and Rosalin?”   
For Patch, as Patricia was often known, and Rosalin Macdonald, as Rosalin was, before her marriage to Roger Black, had spent much of their younger days here in the region of Vairy Castle, on Loch Shee. Patricia’s mother had died, and Patricia’s father and his new wife now lived at the family home, Craigard, with Patricia’s younger brother. Patricia and her husband Bill Kane hoped that one day Vairy might be their permanent home. But Bill was far away at sea, and Patricia bravely carried on, with their twins to care for.   
“The Maitlands, Mrs Gilmour’s parents, only came here very infrequently,” said Rosalin. “And Jean Gordon was always away at school. I was much younger than she, so I hardly knew her.” Patricia nodded, confirming that she too had hardly known the families.  
“Well, while we are here on a semi-permanent basis, I would like us all get to know each other better,” said Rosamund. “You never know when we may need to rely on each other during this time, and it will be wonderful for the children, particularly my twins, to meet some other children. I think Mrs Gilmour has young ones too. Perhaps we can get them all together for a few occasions.”  
“They are both friends with Mrs Orde, whose name is Pamela,” said Rosalin. “Have you heard of her? Her husband is a famous author – he writes for children, but uses another name for his books for adults. They live at Laurel Bank, the house below Twinkle Tap, and their two boys share a governess with the Gilmour children. And there is also Mrs Gordon, Mrs Jean Marchwood’s sister-in-law. I think her name is Erica. She married Derrick Gordon, Carolyn – the Lintie’s – father. He is a great friend of Mr Simon Marchwood. They have a boy and a girl, and live most of the year at Kilaidan.”   
“What a big crowd we should be if we were all to get together!” said Rosamund. “Perhaps first we will just have Mr and Mrs Marchwood, with Carolyn, and Mrs Gilmour, and then see if we can arrange to invite the others later.”  
“It’s a letter from the Countess of Kentisbury, over at Vairy,” said Dimsie next day, sorting her mail. “I wonder what she can be asking? Oh, how kind!” she exclaimed.   
“What is it, Dimsie?” said Peter, looking up from his breakfast.  
“The Countess has asked Jean and her husband, with the Lintie, to lunch, and has asked me if I would like to go. The Countess’s close friends in Buckinghamshire are Sir Kenneth and Lady Jen Marchwood, whom we met in Manchester and at Jean’s wedding. Sir Kenneth is a cousin of Jean’s husband. Remember, Jean was married from their Marchwood Manor? You are invited too, but she understands how busy a doctor’s life can be, and so you are excused if you can’t make it. The Countess’s husband is attending Parliament, so won’t be there.”  
“That’s kind of the Countess,” said Peter, rather scathingly for him. “I can’t imagine she has too much to do. There’s a whole battalion of nurses and servants over at Vairy.”  
“I thought she looked an interesting and resourceful sort of person whenever I have seen her,” said Dimsie thoughtfully. “If I had that many children, I would want more help too! I would like to get to know her. Don’t judge a book by its wrapping paper, Peter. Remember the disaster that was our dear departed former governess.”***  
For Dimsie’s home had been infiltrated by a German spy, and only recently had life returned to some semblance of normality, after the daring capture of a master spy in their very home by Dimsie’s student, Anne Willoughby. Anne had used some of Dimsie’s herbs to induce the spy into a deep sleep, which had enabled him to be captured.   
Dimsie met Jean, Carolyn and Simon, who motored over in their small boat, and they all travelled together to the jetty at the foot of Vairy Castle. They were met by a pony trap driven by the new castle factor, Ferguson, brother of John Ferguson, the local boatman, and were transported up to the elegantly turreted castle, which in size was more of a manor house than its larger cousin, Kentisbury Castle, in the far south of England. Ferguson had travelled up to Vairy with the Earl and Countess, after Kentisbury was commandeered for the duration by the Army.****  
The Countess, who insisted they call her Rosamund, welcomed them cordially and invited them into the comfortably appointed lounge, to await their lunch. Patricia and Rosalin were both introduced, and the conversation turned rapidly to their common interest, the children.   
“Are all your children staying here at Vairy, Rosamund?” asked Dimsie. Her real, and more formal name, Daphne, had also been summarily dismissed.  
“Not quite,” said Rosamund, “although that must sound a little strange. My young half-brother, Roddy, who lives with us, is twelve, and he has just started at school with his cousins, the Frasers, and the sons of our best friends, the Marchwood and Raymond boys. But, yes, all our own children are here with me. I am lucky to have plenty of help!”  
“I believe your oldest son, Lord Verriton, is seven?” asked Jean.  
“Yes,” said Rosamund. It was always a source of anxiety to her that many people would know where young Lord Verriton was living, his having already survived a kidnap attempt before he had even turned one.*****  
“That’s close to my son’s age,” said Dimsie, in a very friendly way. “His name is Bill, and my daughter Daffodil – Daffie – is eight.”  
“She would be a lovely friend for my two sets of twin girls, who are eight, and Bill for Hugh. Hugh in particular can get rather lonely, now that Roddy has gone to school. His little brothers are very little,” said Rosamund. “Perhaps we could get them all together sometime soon? Jean, I believe your brother and his wife also live at Kilaidan?”  
“That’s right,” said Jean. “My brother and Erica, his wife, have a son Dickie, who is nine, and daughter Mona, aged eight. Our friends Pam and Kenneth Orde also have two boys, Hugh and Ken, who are ten and eight,” volunteered Jean.   
“Hugh and Ken, that’s a coincidence. Lord Verriton is Hugh, of course, and although none of us has a little Ken, Simon’s cousin is Sir Ken Marchwood, whom of course you know,” laughed Rosamund. “I must get to know Mrs Orde, and your sister-in-law, and perhaps we can get all the children here for a picnic one day. With my seven, Patricia’s twins, and your six, we have quite a crowd!”  
“Jen, Lady Marchwood, always said she wanted to have a morris side in her family,’ continued Rosamund, “and she has managed that, with six boys and three girls! It looks like we might have a rival morris side if we were to put all our boys together, although Roddy would have to be home, or little Geoff grow up fast! I would rather enjoy some morris dancing again; it’s been quite a while since I last did any capers! Was dancing popular at your school, Dimsie?”  
“Organised music was something we didn’t have much of,” said Dimsie, reflecting. “Individual musicians emerged, but we didn’t have much of an orchestra or choir, and no dancing that I recall. There was swimming in summer, and people like Erica were great sportswomen, but I tended towards the younger children and played games like rounders with them.”  
“You may like to try some of our dancing one day,” said Rosamund. “Patricia and Rosalin are very good at Scottish reels.” She looked appreciatively at Dimsie and Jean’s slight and graceful figures – no lumpy types here!  
“Now, please come into the dining room. I believe lunch is ready,” said Rosamund, at a signal from her butler. “Carolyn… alright then, Lintie! You must tell me about your journey across the Atlantic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Rosamund was asked to enter for Joy’s inaugural scholarship for music, but withdrew from the competition because she was helping Maidlin, who missed some school before Joy’s wedding. Issues of conflict of interest didn’t seem to exist! (“Queen of the Abbey Girls.”)  
>  ** Simon Marchwood is the creation of Louise Benson, in her novel “Joy’s Next Adventure”. Louise’s brilliant crossover with the Dimsie series opens a whole new area of inspiration for possible relationships. I did have Dimsie meet Benedicta in “The Garnet Links”, before reading Louise’s novel, but Jean Gordon’s marriage to Simon Marchwood is a masterly creation. I hope Louise will approve of this adoption of her character and story line.  
> *** See “Dimsie Carries On” by Dorita Fairlie Bruce.  
> **** The role of Factor was a reserved occupation during the war, so Ferguson would not have been required to enlist. http://anguline.co.uk/Free/Reserved.pdf  
> ***** See “Jandy Mac Comes Back” by Elsie J. Oxenham


	25. Plans for Defence - October 1941

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosamund establishes a Women's Defence Force at Vairy.

“Has Kentisbury felt the effects of the war significantly, Rosamund?” asked Simon, as lunch drew to a close. He was deeply interested in how the southern coastal areas were faring. “I know that Buckinghamshire, where Ken has his family, is relatively safe and protected by its geography.”  
“I’m afraid the opposite is true for Kentisbury,” said Rosamund. “Its proximity to the coast puts it rather in the line of possible conflict. It has been taken over by the military for the duration. We feel safer here.”  
Dimsie and Jean exchanged glances, and Rosamund was quick to see that they might not feel the same way about their safety.   
“Do you feel that we may be under threat in this area, Dimsie?” she asked directly.   
“This is a rather strategic coastline. We had an incident at the start of the war,” said Dimsie carefully. “A high-level enemy agent was intercepted and his team captured. Someone had been planted within our employment to pass on information. That’s all over now, but it has made us rather more careful. There is – activity – around the coastline as well. But I think I can say, without compromising national security, that most of it is friendly. And I assume you and the Earl know about the torpedo factory, and the trials on the sheltered lochs? They are rather hard to keep secret.”   
Dimsie saw anxiety creep into the Countess’s face, and rightly interpreted its source. Here she was, with two other young women, in a lonely prominent castle, near extensive navigable waterways, and a major industrial city, and war-related factories. She was in charge of several small children, and predominantly female staff, whose job was to care for the children. There was no armed protection of any kind, apart from the factor, Ferguson, and the other, very young, grounds staff. It was more than a mild concern.  
“I feel very confident in all our staff here,” said Rosamund stoutly. “My children’s nurses are old friends from schooldays, in some cases, and long-term employees of Kentisbury. There is great loyalty among the people here as well, to the generations of Earls and their families. I don’t fear a spy within the household, but the possibility of enemy activity can’t be ignored.”  
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Simon thoughtfully, “if there was an informal, and perhaps even a secret formal network of observation taking place around here. I don’t think you need to be overly anxious at present, Rosamund, just vigilant. Is there a Home Guard regiment?”  
“Not on this side of the Loch,” said Rosamund. “There just are not enough men here to make it possible. Unless it was made up of women!”  
Suddenly very much ‘The Countess’, Rosamund looked around at Jean, Dimsie, the Lintie, Rosalin and Patricia. “Why shouldn’t we form a Home Defence Force? It wouldn’t be the first – there is an MP in the south who has been advocating since the start of the war that women should be allowed in the Home Guard – she invoked the name of Boadicea. I think there was even a troop called the Amazon Defence Corps that someone set up. Why shouldn’t we take steps to protect ourselves, especially if there is no-one else to do it?”  
“Simon, your young girl cousins are all proficient in Morse and semaphore, thanks to a suggestion made on the day the war began. Why shouldn’t we all learn, and be able to keep watch and defend ourselves? I would rather do that than …. Well, I won’t say what I have heard some people planning, should there be an invasion. I’m with Churchill – we shall never surrender!”  
“And I don’t want to have to consider taking the lives of my family either,” said Jean, wincing as she dared to mention the dreadful fate many had prepared for, and which Rosamund had dismissed as a possibility.*** “I’m with you Rosamund, and I am sure Simon would join, too, wouldn’t you, dear, if men are allowed in our force?” Everyone laughed at the irony of this, including Simon. The refusal for women to be allowed in the official Home Guard was well known.  
“I didn’t think I was coming to a recruitment, Rosamund, when I accepted a lunch invitation,” said Dimsie, highly intrigued by the turn the day had taken. Wait till she told Peter about this!  
“I certainly didn’t think I was issuing an invitation to a recruitment,” said Rosamund apologetically.   
“But seriously, I think you are right. I can think of many women in the area who would love the chance to work with others to protect our home,” said Dimsie. “I can even imagine Miss Withers, or the new postmistress, when they are roused to action! But who among us can even fire a pistol?”   
“I can,” said Jean, to Rosamund’s surprise. Wasn’t the new Mrs Marchwood a poet and story writer? “Don’t you remember, Dimsie, that Erica, Pam and I would go hunting often when we came up here to visit?* I am rather a good shot, or I used to be. Daddy has a whole arsenal back at Kilaidan.”  
“I can shoot too,” said Rosalin. “Daddy taught me how to use all his weapons. In fact, I still have them. Even a claymore,” she added mischievously. “Swords are not just for dancing, you know.”  
“And Rosalin knows everything about this local area,” said Patricia eagerly. “There isn’t a stream or path, loch or inlet that she doesn’t know like the back of her hand. Why, I believe you could find your way blindfold between here and Twinkle Tap, couldn’t you Rosalin? And Dimsie, you must be the same?” Rosalin and Dimsie both smiled, but did not disagree.  
“There you are! What a handy group we will be,” said Rosamund triumphantly. “Simon, we are not a group of helpless women unable to defend ourselves. We are the Vairy – no, the Loch Shee Womens’ Home Defence Force!”**  
“What do you think Lord Kentisbury will say about your plan, Rosamund?” said Rosalin, after the guests had left, with promises to meet soon to make plans, and to invite Pamela and Erica, Anne Willoughby, the children’s nurses and governesses, and other women in the district, to join the group.   
“Geoffrey will be very proud, and will be able to help us in many ways,” said Rosamund. “He knows a lot about military strategy and espionage from… experiences… in the first war. I must find out what weapons we have here at the castle. I am not sure there is going to be much chance to commandeer weapons from any regiment within a hundred miles!”  
“Rosamund is a new person,” confided Patricia to Rosalin, that evening after dinner. “Did you see her eyes blazing? I’d say she hasn’t had this much fun for years!”  
“I’m not sure she sees it as fun,” said Rosalin slowly. “She has a lot to protect, even Lord Kentisbury. His health is always delicate. But yes, it gives her the chance to use her very many skills – I am only just beginning to realise how many, and, perhaps, so is she.”  
“Do you think Roger will understand, Rosalin?” said Patricia. “I know Bill will – he would want to be part of it! Although, of course, he is part of it, in the bigger sense. I want to be part of it too. Rosamund has given us a chance.”  
“Patch,” said Rosalin slowly, “if there is an invasion, and the last defences come to the Castle, what then? We have all these little girls, the maid servants, ourselves … what if soldiers do come in? I have read the papers. I know what has happened to women, even little girls, in some places. I have heard that there are pills you can take, which make it… quick. Maybe Roger could get some for us.”  
“I think that would mean Roger was breaking the law, Rosalin. We’ll talk to Rosamund about it again. I am sure she has thought about this with respect to her two sets of twin girls. I can’t even bear to think about it, but it’s war!” Patch cried, as Rosalin tried to comfort her. “Let’s just trust – to God, to our army, our navy, our air force, to our own defences, that it won’t happen, and that we never have to decide!” she cried.   
The Gordons and Dimsie discussed their meeting with the Countess, as the launch slowly crossed the loch.   
“The Countess has made a good point about our protecting the area. We have done a good job of it already, but I suppose our focus has been on our homes and our village, rather than the wider district,” said Jean. “Daddy will be very interested in this; I remember him telling me about that debate where the name of Boadicea was raised.”  
“The Countess is more of a Norse warrior than Celtic,” laughed Dimsie, “but I like her very much. I am looking forward to introducing Daffie to her twins, and Bill to Hugh.” But there were shadows behind the laughter, and neither she nor Jean slept well that night, or for many nights after. They had been reminded again that war, and its possibilities, were too close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * See “Dimsie Grows Up” by Dorita Fairlie Bruce  
> ** Edith Summerskill, in particular, argued against the irrationality of women not being allowed in combat roles.  
> https://www.theguardian.com/world/2006/jun/19/secondworldwar.gender https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/pdf/10.1080/09612020000200250   
> *** When the fear of invasion was at its height, there was discussion about taking cyanide pills as a means of sparing one’s family the cruelties of war. Many unscrupulous people traded in pills, some of which were found to contain nothing more than chalk.


	26. Biddy’s daughters - November 1941

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Biddy's daughters come to stay, and Joy is reminded of the talents of a musical friend.

At the Hall, Mary’s eyes were bright with suppressed excitement.  
“Have you won the lottery, Mary?” said Joy. “You look so thrilled about something.”  
“Oh, Joy, I have had really wonderful news,” said Mary. “Biddy has taken an appointment as secretary to a Swiss diplomat. He is to visit London, and she must accompany him and his family. Swiss diplomats have immunity to travel, through either Spain or Sweden.”  
“How marvellous, Mary,” said Joy warmly. “Will you be able to see her? How long can she stay?”  
“I am not sure how long the visit is for. But the best news is that she has permission to bring her children with her, and hopes they might be able to stay on in England at school, when she returns to Bern,” said Mary. “It’s been so long since I have seen either of the girls. Etienne is still in France, and it is doubtful he can leave at present,” she finished, more soberly.  
“I’m very glad for Biddy, but she must worry about Etienne all the time,” said Joy. “How old are the girls now?”  
“Madelon Marie is twelve, and Marie Rose, ten,” said Mary, reflecting on all that had happened since that time. Why, neither Rosamund nor Maidlin had been married, or even engaged, when Madelon Marie was born.  
“Old enough for Miss Raven’s school, then,” said Joy. “Is that the school Biddy hopes they will attend? Or would she prefer a London school?”  
“I think she would like them to go to school in the country,” said Mary cautiously. Not for anything would she read what Biddy had actually written. “Mary, can you see if Joy will have the girls for me, for old times’ sake and yours? You’ve worked for her for years, surely she would see this as a favour to you?”  
Mary was well aware that Ivor, in particular, found the noise and energy of five children, plus the occasional visits from the evacuee students, tiring, if not oppressive, and already spent a fair amount of time away at his war work, or locked in his study. Adding two energetic little girls to that mix, might be just too much to ask. Joy’s sense of hospitality should not be imposed on.  
“The girls are very close in age to Rosemary and Katharine, are they not?” said Joy. “I wonder; I know Jen has been feeling the girls need some companionship more than just Hermione. Rosemary hardly spends time with anyone else, and Jen was hoping to broaden her outlook a little. If Jen was able to take them, it might solve a difficulty for her too.”  
Mary breathed a sigh of relief. She need not pose the suggestion Biddy had made, and home at Jen’s might be far more fun for them, with girl companions of the same age. But Jen had not yet been asked, and so resolutely Mary made her way over to the Manor the next day, having phoned Jen previously to make sure she would be at home.  
As expected, Lady Marchwood saw no obstacle to adding to her already large family. Mike had now gone off to school with Andrew and Tony in Yorkshire, so, as Jen put it kindly, she was needing to add to her family again!  
Mary stood on the steps of the Hall to welcome Biddy and her daughters, Frost having gone to collect them from the station. Joy and Jen waited inside, giving Mary a chance to see her sister and nieces first.  
“I vividly remember that other occasion when Biddy came home, with Maidlin, and the new born Madelon Marie,” said Jen. “Hopefully there are no surprises this time.”  
A very stylishly dressed Biddy, and her two young girls, entered the Hall a few minutes later with Mary. “Jen, Joy, how lovely to see you both!” said Biddy heartily, and brought the girls to her side. “You know Madelon, although she doesn’t remember much about England. And this is Marie Rose. Girls, these are our dear friends Lady Quellyn and Lady Marchwood, your Aunty Joy and Aunty Jen.”  
The two girls bobbed little curtsies, and both said, “Bon jour, Madame” in turn to each of Joy and Jen. Both of them were well grown and looked curiously around the hall, once the greetings were over. They were simply dressed in well cut frocks, in linen, with simple embroidered collars, and both had Biddy’s curly brown hair.  
“How wonderful to have you all here, Biddy,” said Joy. “I am so glad you were able to come to England again, and Elizabeth and Margaret can’t wait to see Madelon Marie again.”  
“What is “Biddy”, Maman?” said Marie Rose, her eyes wide.  
“Marie, ma cherie, Maman has different names in England,” said Biddy to her daughter. “I am mostly called Brigitte now, in the French way, at home in France and in Switzerland,” she explained to Mary and Joy and Jen. “Etienne started using the French form of Bridget when I went back to France. I rather like it,” she said. “But you can call me Biddy, or Bridget, or whatever you like best.”  
“I think I can manage Brigitte,” laughed Joy. “It makes you sound very mature and grown up.”  
“And trés French,” added Jen. “Madelon and Marie, I have a bedroom for you at my house nearby for when you start school, but tonight we thought you might like to stay here, near your Aunt Mary, and your mother.”  
“Merci, Madame,” the girls chorused. “I am looking forward to meeting your Rose Marie?” said Marie Rose quizzically. “Her name is like mine, yes?”  
“It certainly is, Marie,” said Jen, “and she is looking forward to meeting you too! She is at school of course, but will be home later.”  
Mary showed them and Biddy upstairs to their rooms for the night. Biddy could only stay one night before returning to her duties with the diplomat. Visits would be few while Biddy was in England, and Mary was conscious of the anxiety the girls might feel over the next few months, before Biddy might return. Although living in separate houses, she would spend much of her time with the girls over the next months.  
The following day, the car took the girls’ cases over to the Manor, while, with Mary and Joy, the girls and their mother walked through the Abbey, telling Madelon and Marie stories as they went. Madelon was intrigued to learn that she had slept with Biddy in the tiny room that had been Joy’s for a month or two when they first returned from France. As they passed the lake, Biddy shivered. “I still remember that terrible day when Andrew rescued Maidlin from the lake,” she said.  
“Yes,” said Joy soberly. “It was the start of many things, that day.”  
Arriving at the Manor, the girls exclaimed over the white chickens and geese, and the busy farmyard. Land girls worked on the vegetables and crops being grown on the farm land surrounding the manor, and the scene was very active. “Have you seen a farm before?” said Jen, as she welcomed the girls and ushered them to see the room prepared for them.  
“No, Madame,” said Madelon. “We have been always in the city, or at the Platz, never on a farm. I think I will like it very much.”  
“Do you think you may like to call me Aunt Jen?” said Jen, “as you do Aunt Mary? I know I am not your real aunt, but I have known your mother for a very long time.”  
“Perhaps,” said Madelon, and Marie smiled shyly. “We will try, Madame Aunt Jen.”  
“Just Aunt Jen will do!” laughed Jen. “Now, come and meet Rosemary and Katharine!”  
Within minutes, four dark heads were deep in conversation, Rosemary and Katharine fascinated by their new French friends, and eager to tell them all about school and home, as well as ask questions of Madelon and Marie about the places they had seen in France and Switzerland.  
“I can’t thank you enough,” said Biddy fervently to Jen. “Having friends and a home will make all the difference to the girls. Switzerland was a happy experience, in the main, but not home.”  
“We will look after them for you, Biddy dear,” said Jen. She had always had a soft spot for the irrepressible Biddy, who had blundered her way through some aspects of her life, with grief and loneliness her childhood experience, losing two close brothers and her parents within a few years. Mary, closed within her own grief and thwarted hopes, had not been a good companion for the energetic Biddy, and they both felt deep thankfulness for the luck that had brought Jen into their lives in their last years in London.  
“They have both been learning piano, and are doing quite well,” said Biddy. “If they could continue lessons at school, Etienne and I would be very happy. There is money for all their fees of course. Do you have a piano they can practise on please, Jen?”  
“We have Andrew’s old piano here,” said Jen. “Rosemary and Katharine are learning, and the twins will start lessons soon too. Just because Ken and I are fairly hopeless musically doesn’t mean they will be too.”  
“Hopeless! Jenny-Wren!” protested Biddy. “Your three-hole pipe was my inspiration and joy!* You were music personified in our lives. Just because you play a humble instrument and don’t perform or play classical music doesn’t mean you are not musical! I would call you one of the most truly musical people I have ever met.” Jen, taken aback at this praise, was for once lost for words.  
“Bravo, Biddy,” said Joy, much amused, and looking at Jen with a new light in her eye. “We forget about the music that Lady Marchwood used to give us in her long-gone youth. It’s about time that little pipe came out again, and not just for dancing. Didn’t Rob Quellyn write a suite for pipe and strings, inspired by you?”  
“Did he?” said Jen, a little overcome. “If he did, I have never heard it. Seems I have some catching up to do.”  
“I’ll be sending you back to the Music School, Jenny-Wren, if you go on talking down your skills like that,” said Joy reprovingly. She made a mental note to get Jen playing again. Not since Jen’s own twins were born had she had time to play. With Maid and Lindy now both well-known singers, the twins’ string instruments, Joy’s own composition and playing, Brian Grandison and Rob Quellyn being professional composers, and Ivor’s and Jock’s conducting, it seemed one of the best of the family musicians had been overlooked for too long. Had Ivor even heard Jen play? Joy couldn’t remember. She knew that Jen had felt in awe of the conductor from their first meeting, and was a little embarrassed of her and Ken’s pedestrian tastes, as she put it, in classical music.  
The return of Betty McLean a week later to the Music School, meant that Janice and Alec were not needed there to help supervise the visiting school students. Like Benedicta, Betty had not passed the medical examination for the Women’s Defence Forces, and so was taking up her work in the village for Joy. Joan and Len welcomed Janice and Alec to stay at their house, but another possibility was discussed that was very attractive to both.  
“Let’s write to Rosamund and see if it is possible for her to have us and the girls at Vairy for a little while,” said Janice. “We might be able to visit the boys as well, at school.” Alec had been asked to pay a visit to some locations in the region of Vairy, for the work that he was doing. Janice, like Joy and Maidlin, knew little of his role, only that she was proud of his commitment and service.  
“But we can’t go until March. For one thing, the weather would be atrocious just now, and for another, we have a wedding to attend!” exulted Janice, for her namesake Janice was finally to be wed to her airman, Richard, Cicely’s Dickon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The story of Jen's pipe is in "Jen of the Abbey School", and she regularly plays for dance parties, but never at concerts.


	27. A wedding for Jansy - January 1942

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jansy's wedding plans are made.

“Which is it to be, Jansy? The Manor or the Hall or Broadway End?” Cicely, Joy and Jen sat, smiling, as Janice Raymond decided from where she wished to be married. Of course, the village church, which had seen her mother Joan, Cicely, Joy, Jen, Rosamund, Maidlin and Damaris become brides within its kindly stone walls, was to be where she and Dickon would be joined as husband and wife.   
Joan and Jack had reluctantly agreed that the wedding reception could not be held at Rayley, since it was dangerously close to the coast for any visitors to travel to in war-time, and there had already been so much snow. A decision rested on Jansy’s shoulders, as to whether she would be married from the Hall, which had been her mother’s home and her own, for many years, the Manor, or Broadway End, her home to be.  
Jen’s home had only hosted one family wedding, that of Simon Marchwood, Ken’s cousin. Jen was very keen to see her dearest friend’s daughter married from her home, especially since Joy was having the majority of the family staying with her. There were still some years before any of Jen’s own children might marry; Andrew, the oldest boy, was just seventeen, and Rosemary, the oldest girl, only twelve. Cicely’s home had hosted her own wedding, but the first daughter of Broadway End, her mother, had eloped, to her parent’s horror. To see her own son married from there was her secret dream.   
“I think I would like to be an Abbey bride, and have the reception at Broadway End,” Janice said eventually, smiling at Cicely, who was to become her mother-in-law, and receiving a warm smile in return. “I would like to dress in the Abbey, in the little rooms where Granny lived with Mother and Aunty Joy, and walk to the gatehouse from there, just as you did, Aunty Jen.”  
“That’s a lovely idea, Jansy,” smiled her mother. “After all, it is our Abbey, isn’t it?”  
“I hope Rachel won’t mind me using her rooms,” said Jansy. “I know she has been able to get leave so she will be staying there that weekend.”  
“It is only right that the current Abbey Guardian should be married from the Abbey. I am sure Rachel will be delighted. Remember she helped to dress Damaris there before her wedding,” laughed Jen. “It’s the biggest excitement we have had in ages. Why, there hasn’t even been a new baby at the Manor, Hall or the Pallant, since little John was born!”  
“Or the Castle,” added Joy. “Even Rosamund decided that seven children, plus Roddy, was enough to be going on with.”  
Jansy blushed and smiled. “I’m not sure we should be counting babies just yet,” she said, then added hastily. “I mean, we probably won’t be having any for a while.” Joan and Jen had looked at her with raised eyebrows, the ambiguity of her first statement giving them a shock.  
Jen laughed. “It’s not always something you can control, Jansy dear. Babies have a mind of their own, you know!”  
Joan had been deeply touched when Jansy had asked if she might wear Joan’s wedding dress. The frock was a soft-white crepe-de-chine with ninon silk overdress, embroidered with silver, with a wreath that held a veil close over the head.*  
“It’s a little old-fashioned,” said Jansy, “but I think I am too, compared to many of the girls I have met in the WAAF.”**   
For Jansy had joined up as soon as she left school, knowing that once she was married, she might not be accepted. Stationed at a nearby air base, she was able to travel to and from the Hall easily. The task of guiding visitors around the Abbey on weekends had now fallen to the twins, themselves knowledgeable about the Abbey’s history. Visitation had dropped off markedly, with the Blitz making people unwilling to travel.   
Very few of the current group of friends had been present at Joan’s wedding, which had taken place only the day before Miss Macey had written asking for Joy to offer a home to Rosamund, and Maidlin’s Aunt Ann had approached Joy about adopting Maidlin. Rosamund and Maidlin, Janice and Joan Fraser, Mary, the twins and Rosemary, none of whom had seen Joan married, were all intrigued to see Joan’s dress, for Jansy was so like her mother that it would be easy to imagine Joan herself, as she would have appeared. Cicely and Miriam had been present, however, and were all looking forward to the wedding of the first daughter of the Abbey. Marguerite, who had also been present, was still in the USA.   
The twins were to be Jansy’s chief bridesmaids, with her sisters Jennifer and Jillian as first couple.   
Jansy had asked they wear their simple white frocks, and carry posies of winter flowers, such as hellebore, or Christmas rose, pansies and violas. “We can’t all have new frocks especially for the wedding, so white with winter flowers suits me,” she said.   
“Five red-heads in the procession,” laughed Jen. “How lovely you will all look. It will be like Mirry’s coronation, when Joy and Joan, the twins and Jansy were all on the platform together and looked like peas in a pod.” ***  
“I must have some of my favourite lobelia blue in my bouquet, though,” said Janice. “But it may be hard to find at this time of year.”  
“I have some blue gentian plants in my greenhouses,” said Jen. “They have blooms developing, so I hope we might be able to give you your touch of blue.”  
“I’m afraid Jansy may not be able to walk anywhere, for all this snow,” said Joy, looking out of the Hall’s windows the day before the wedding. “Did you ever see such snow?”  
“It’s certainly unusual for this area to have so much, although it was the same last year,” said Mary. “I don’t remember two winters so cold and so much snow for years. Rain, yes, but not snow.”  
“Crepe-de-chine is definitely not ideal wear for snowy conditions,” laughed Joy. “And as for her shoes!”  
Janice’s dream of a stroll through the Abbey grounds to the Gatehouse definitely had to be abandoned. Instead, to Littlejan Fraser’s delight, Janice dressed in the spare bedroom of the Herb Garden, tended by Littlejan and Janice senior, her mother Joan and godmother Jen, so that the car could get more easily up the nearby roadway.   
“I couldn’t wait to meet you when we first arrived from Australia,” reminisced Littlejan, watching as Joan senior fixed her own veil to her daughter’s dark curls, “but it was months before we finally did meet.”  
“And we have been friends ever since,” said Janice, rising and coming over to sit by her on the bed. “I love you like a big sister, Littlejan.”  
“I love you too, Jansy,” said Littlejan, overcome. Joan and Janice put their arms around each other’s waists, as their daughters, their namesakes, also embraced. Never, as long as they lived, would they forget this moment together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I have used the exact description of my grandmother’s wedding dress from 1919.   
> ** Women’s Auxiliary Air Force.  
> *** From “Maid of the Abbey”


	28. A snowy wedding - January 1942

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jansy's wedding is perfect, if a little cold.

“This snow really is getting beyond a joke,” said Jen, looking out of the windows of the Manor, as they prepared to pack their family into the big car to drive to the village. The roads were dense with snow and even though the church was within walking distance, it was not feasible to attempt to walk. “These winter weddings – never again,” she said, shaking her finger at her younger children.  
Littlejan Fraser wrapped Janice in her big fur coat, a present from Len sent from Australia,* and helped her out to the car, her fragile silver shoes carefully carried while Janice wore much more serviceable boots over her white stockings. She would change in the shelter of the church. Everyone was making similar amendments to their costumes to stay warm and dry.  
“I’m beginning to think we should have had the service at Broadway End as well as the reception,” said Cicely to her husband Dick, as they drove slowly and carefully through snowy laneways to the village, their two younger children excitedly talking in the back of the car. Cissy and Ted were very good friends. Cicely’s staff had made each of them a hot water bottle to carry, and Cissy and Ted cuddled these to keep warm, although their thick coats and gloves were really quite adequate.  
At the church, Mary-Dorothy had had the same idea, and discretely handed out hot water bottles to guests as they filled the church.  
“Thank you, Mary,” laughed Jen, as she received her hot water bottle. “This is certainly a novel touch for a wedding!” The presence of the bottles, a decidedly comic but welcome touch, meant that everyone was in high good humour. Despite the weather and the war, a wedding was taking place. Jollity and confidence replaced anxiety and fear, at least for the time being. There was something very moving about the tall young couple, as they made their vows.  
Broadway End had never known such a festive occasion. Both large families were united in their happiness, and the many friends rejoiced in the happiness of the young couple. Cicely and her staff had managed to provide an enormous luncheon feast for all, and the young members of the two families had decorated the house for Christmas, so that there were festive touches everywhere. Since it was not yet Twelfth Night, the decorations of rosemary, bay, holly and mistletoe were still hanging, but Cicely explained that they would leave them even longer this year.  
“I found the old Robert Herrick poem of “Candlemas”, and was intrigued by its reference to using different boughs of trees to adorn the house during the different times of the year,” Cicely explained to Joy and Joan. “Herrick also talks of February 2nd as the date, halfway between the shortest day and the spring equinox, to take down these decorations. I love all these old traditions and ceremonies, so we thought that they would become our family traditions too.”**  
The feast over, the wedding cake, lovingly made by Anne Bellanne, was brought out on a huge tray carried by two maids, to decorate the main table. Jansy’s love of blue flowers was evident in the cake’s decoration. A narrow deep blue ribbon encircled the lower edge of each of the three graduated layers of the cake, which was covered in white royal icing. Then around the upper edge of each layer, and on the top, were clusters of delicately formed little flowers and leaves made of icing, in all the softer colours of lilac, lavender, violet, white and palest pink and blue, with tiny green leaves interspersed. There were tiny rosebuds, daisies, violets and forget-me-nots, intricately worked.  
“It’s a sort of Hamlet Club cake,” said Jansy, proudly enjoying the exclamations of delight. “We couldn’t have all the flowers, of course, but there are enough to give the idea.”  
Jen, Joan, and other Hamlet Club friends, looked on, mightily intrigued, and Jen had visions of a cake with little brown leaves and dancing yellow flowers, while even Queen Stripes, Beatrice, could see a vision of striped tulip flowers on a pale background.  
“I foresee Anne Bellanne’s future may yet be in cake-making,” laughed Maidlin. “I had better be careful I don’t lose her to all those of you who want decorated cakes!”  
Rosalind Grandison, who had brought her little girl to the party, in her first public appearance, sat with Belinda Robertson, who was expecting her first baby in early April. “There is a new generation of little children coming for the family,” she said. “Damaris and Brian have two children now, Raimy Rose and David, for Rachel and Damaris’ father. And I believe the Quellyn family in Wales have a third on the way, after Bobbie and little Gwenyth.”  
“Will the world they grow up in be the same that Robert Herrick wrote about?” wondered Belinda. “So many things seem to be changing.”  
“Surely there will always be beautiful winters, kind springs, and lavender, and rosemary, and mistletoe,” said Rosalind thoughtfully. And, contemplating their children’s future, both sat, silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Littlejan’s fur coat may have been made from rabbits, which were a plentiful imported pest in Australia. https://pateblog.nma.gov.au/2016/05/20/a-fur-coat-for-flora/  
> Another possibility is the native water-rat, sometimes called the Australian Otter, and more often now by its indigenous name, rakali, which had a beautiful pelt. It was widely hunted in the 30s and 40s, fortunately without obvious appreciable effect on its numbers. It is now a protected species. https://maas.museum/inside-the-collection/2014/02/10/water-rat-fur-coat-and-a-long-romance/  
> ** https://www.lavenderandlovage.com/2020/01/celebrating-old-twelfth-night.html


	29. Dinner at Vairy - February 1942

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jandy and Alec visit Vairy for the first time.

“Jandy and Alec would like to visit for a month,” said Rosamund excitedly the following month, when she received a letter. “We will be able to recruit Jandy for a while, and Alec is sure to have some good advice for us.” Rosamund, Patricia and Rosalin were surrounded by children, sitting in a pool of late sunshine at a west facing window, looking out over the snowy shores of the loch. “I can’t wait to hear all about Janice’s wedding. One of us always seems to miss another’s wedding. Joan and Jen both had to miss mine, when Rosemary was so ill.”  
“Is there a particular reason for their visit, Rosamund?” said Patricia, holding a twin on each knee. “It’s a long way at this time.”  
“Alec’s sister, Isobel, has moved back into the area, and they haven’t seen her for years. Alec also has some business to attend to, says Jandy, and she wants to catch up with her remaining Fraser and Macdonald relatives,” said Rosamund, scrutinising her letter. “I would be interested to meet whomever she knows, especially now that the old Misses Fraser are no longer with us. They were rather a link that kept us in touch with the village. Given that Jandy is both a Fraser and a Macdonald descendent herself, as well as a Kane!* she will want to connect with those left. Are you able to help her, Rosalin? I haven’t wanted to ask you before, but now seems a good time to make any contacts that we can. There may even be people who need a little support.”  
“I can try with the Macdonald side, and of course I knew the Misses Fraser well, but I don’t really know where Mr Fraser fits,” said Rosalin. “It is interesting that Mrs Fraser, Janice, calls him her cousin sometimes, but I am not quite sure of the actual relationship. But I heard very recently that there is a much younger Miss Fraser in the village now. That might be Mr Fraser’s sister, Isobel.”  
“I imagine so,” said Rosamund. “We must invite her here as well one day.”  
Janice and Alec’s arrival, with their two youngest children, Cecily Rose and Janet Joy, was a cause for great celebration.  
“Vairy Castle extends a sincere welcome to the newly discovered members of the Kane family,” laughed Rosamund, as Janice and Alec were shown into the great entrance hall, by no means as grand as Kentisbury but still imposing. It was the first time that Janice and her daughters had been welcomed to Vairy as cousins, however distant, of the Kane family.   
“I am just thrilled to be here, Rosamund,” said Janice. “I have visited the district several times, but this is the first time I actually have visited Vairy Castle itself. I know that Littlejan and Len loved their honeymoon here, before we knew ourselves to be cousins of your family.”   
Rosamund spared no effort in the Castle’s welcome; the main formal dining room was to be used for a ceremonial dinner, with fine old linen napery, the best plate and the Royal Crown Derby dinner service. Rosamund had been thrilled to find the castle held the Royal Antoinette pattern, with its delicate floral tracery and fluted edges, and finely painted flowers.   
An early high tea was held with all the children, in the beautiful family sitting room, decorated in whites and pale yellow, with pale green accents. All foodstuffs beloved of children, which were available during the rationing period, or from the Vairy farms and gardens, were served to the family of siblings and cousins. There were nine Kanes and two Fraser children assembled, all related to one another, and ranging in age from ten to two.   
Lord Verriton, Geoffrey Hugh Kane, the oldest, with Cecily Rose Fraser, held court over the two sets of Kentisbury twins, Lady Rosabel and Lady Rosalin, and Lady Rosanna and Lady Rosilda, while Patricia’s twins Rosella and Roger Kane, and the youngest children, Janet Joy Fraser, and Geoff and Peter Kane, were grouped together under the supervision of the Vairy children’s nurses. Yellow heads were in the majority, but red headed Rosella was a fascinating contrast.   
“Cecily Rose and Jantyjoy look quite the Kanes, don’t they,” laughed Janice. “And yet it is Alec they take after, who is not a Kane at all!”  
“There is a fascinating touch of red to their sandy colour that our yellow heads don’t have, “said Rosamund. “I have heard you call Alec your cousin before. Is Alec a first cousin? Geoff and I are first cousins, once removed,” she added. “He and my father were first cousins.”  
“Alec and I are second cousins on the Fraser side,” said Janice. “We share great-grandparents, not grandparents. We have recently realised that Len is Alec’s third cousin as well, and therefore third cousin, once removed of Littlejan, again on the Fraser side. All in the family, so to speak!”  
The children, fed and entertained, were accompanied by the adults upstairs to the spacious nurseries, where little beds for all had been set out. Stories and games were played, before the nurses declared it time for bed, and the rituals of changes into pyjamas, and teeth cleaning, were set in motion. Geoffrey Hugh and Cecily, as the eldest, were to have more time for stories, as their bedtime was a little later.   
“Now it’s time for grownups’ dinner,” laughed Rosamund. “Do come down as quickly as you can, before the staff get anxious. And I am so looking forward to a full description of Jansy’s wedding!”  
In honour of the occasion everyone dressed in semi-formal attire. Since Alec was the only man present, he was spared full evening dress, and thankfully donned the velvet jacket which Janice had deemed acceptable, while she wore a favourite gown of deep claret red. She paid a quick visit to the nursery, for Cecily was keen to see her mother in her best dress.   
Rosamund, Rosalin and Patricia were all resplendent in long gowns, and such jewellery as was not locked away for safe keeping. Each smiled with pleasure at the opportunity to engage in a grand dinner, which was such a contrast to most meals at the moment. The staff rose to the occasion too, pleased to be using the finest examples of dinnerware the castle had to offer, and to see such grand guests. It was the firm opinion of the housekeeper that silver need to be used to prevent its tarnishing, so she was delighted to see it in use, and had kept her young workers busy all afternoon with the polishing cloths.  
Some of the younger staff were overawed by the occasion, and breathlessly told their relatives later of the delicate porcelain and heavy silver it had been their lot to handle.  
“Nothing was too good for the Countess’s Australian cousin,” they said. “Her family has been in Vairy even longer than the Earl’s!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * See “The Garnet Links” by corinnathepoet on Archive of Our Own, which draws on clues in “Schooldays in the Abbey”, “Jandy Mac Comes Back” and “Secrets of Vairy” by Elsie J. Oxenham.


	30. A long-lost sister - March 1942

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec and Janice are reunited with Isobel, Alec's sister.

After dinner, everyone retired to the drawing room, for coffee and port. Rosamund was keen to ask if Janice and Alec knew about the new Miss Fraser in the district.  
“Jandy, Patricia tells me that a new Miss Fraser is living in Vairy Town at the moment. That will be your sister, Alec?  
“Yes,” said Alec. “We had a letter from her recently, directed to my former ship. They passed it on to me, thank goodness. At one time we hoped Isobel might make her home in Samoa with Jandy and I, but she found the climate too enervating, and on her journey home, was tempted to try Canada. I thought she was settled there, but perhaps not? I hate to admit that we have lost touch over the years. What a coincidence that we are both in the district at the same time, since we had intended to visit before I got her letter.”  
“That was partly my fault that we fell out of touch,” said Janice. “You know what a woeful correspondent I was in the last few years before Joan and I came back, when she was fourteen. And since we moved to Ceylon, well, let’s just say I did not tire our friends’ eyes with correspondence!* It’s Joan who is the letter writer of the family, having been away for so long from the rest of us. She loved to tell us all about her doings, and to make up letters in code for the boys.” Rosamund pricked up her ears at that comment, which she stored away for later.   
Miss Fraser had sent her address to Alec, and Jandy and Alec wrote a joint note to her, asking if they might call. A short note suggesting the following Friday afternoon was received in reply, and the pair duly paid their call.   
“I feel ridiculously nervous,” said Janice. “I hardly know Isobel, or she us.”  
The door was opened by the maid of the house’s owner, who frequently let a spacious room to guests, and was glad of a let at this time. Janice and Alec were shown into a private sitting room, and there to greet them was Isobel Fraser.   
“Alec, you haven’t changed a bit, nor you, Janice,” said Isobel, who herself, thin, angular, sandy haired and with a strong-boned and lined face, had changed quite a lot from the very young, softer looking woman who had found the Samoan climate far too hot and humid for her liking. “What a coincidence that we should both be here at the same time.”  
“What brings you here, Isobel?” said Alec, finding the gap of years leading to a slight sense of strangeness in the presence of this younger sister. They seemed like the proverbial ships passing in the night, both choosing a familiar port for respite. Like Janice, Alec felt he hardly knew her.   
“I am with the Canadian Women’s Forces,” she said. “Vancouver is my home now, but I felt the chance to come to Scotland too good to pass up. I made friends with Carolyn Gordon, who was visiting her Gordon cousin, a rather well-known architect,** and we travelled overland together, then on the same troop ship.”   
“We have met Carolyn,” exclaimed Janice. “Except we were introduced to her as ‘the Lintie’. A quaint name from childhood, rather like mine! People still call me Jandy Mac.”  
“My goodness, people still call you by a childhood name?” asked Isobel, with some amusement.   
“It distinguishes me from another Janice who is the daughter of close friends,” said Janice, a little miffed by what she interpreted as mild contempt. “We still call our oldest girl Littlejan, too, a pet name that Alec created for her.”  
“Ah, well, each to their own I suppose,” said Isobel, smiling in a slightly superior way. “Some people like to retain child-like traditions.”  
“You haven’t married, Isobel?” said Alec hastily, sensing the atmosphere was rather strained.  
“No,” said Isobel, “I have been teaching ever since I settled in Vancouver, and haven’t met anyone I wanted to marry. I enjoy my independence; I have bought a cottage south facing onto the Fraser River … yes, a funny coincidence! and can almost fancy myself being on the Firth of Clyde. I have some good friends.”  
“How lovely for you,” said Janice, anxious not to have the meeting degenerate any further, and feeling a little warmth in Isobel as she described her home. “We have purchased a house on the south coast, west of Southampton, but won’t move there until this conflict is over. The army have commandeered it for the duration anyway.”  
“Did you work in Samoa, Janice?” asked Isobel.   
“Only in a voluntary capacity, with the church and community,” said Janice. “We had our first three children in Samoa, so they kept me fairly busy most of the time, as Alec was away a lot at sea.”  
“Did you have staff?” said Isobel. “I recall meeting a woman who helped you with the baby Jan when I visited you.”  
“Yes, Ilaisa helped me with Joan and our boys,”*** said Janice, pleased that Isobel had remembered her friend, and easily forgiving the mispronunciation of Joan’s name. “She came with me to Ceylon, but is back in Samoa now.”   
“Were you in Ceylon for long?” said Isobel.  
“Yes, a few years,” said Janice. “We moved there when Joan was fifteen, and came home to England when she was nineteen.”  
“You were not tempted to go back to Australia? I believe you were born there?”  
“Yes, I was born there, but I didn’t really wish to go back,” said Janice, beginning to tire of the questions that Isobel was firing at her. “Alec had no Sydney connections, and now that our boys and Joan have so many friends and relatives here, as do we, it made sense to settle here. But we didn’t bargain on a war to welcome us.”  
“No, I suppose not,” said Isobel. She turned to Alec. “And what are you doing with yourself, brother Alec?”  
“Oh, a bit of this and a bit of that,” said Alec vaguely. “I’m touring some of the historic gardens, such as Benmore, to see the giant sequoias and rhododendrons there. I am thinking of a commercial garden in the south when we finally get there.”  
Janice looked at him with some surprise; a visit to Benmore was not a plan she had been aware of before. But she was prepared to go wherever Alec wanted; it was so long since she had been able to accompany him on his rovings. “We are looking forward to seeing the gardens, and we are interested in Scottish roses as well,” she seconded ably, not quite sure why Alec felt the need to enlarge upon their as yet unsettled plans to Isobel.  
“Ah, horticulture,” said Isobel, “such a noble occupation. What’s the saying: something about the meaning of life and he who plants trees whose shade he will never enjoy?**** Are you quite retired from the sea now, Alec?”  
“In my former capacity, yes,” said Alec ambiguously. He didn’t like this kind of fishing.  
“Goodness, Alec, we are all family here,” said Isobel. “You may as well know that I am going to be working at the WREN***** office in the district, doing administrative work. It’s no secret. I wear a uniform, after all.”   
“No secrets here either, Isobel,” said Alec pleasantly.   
“You mentioned in your note that you are staying at Vairy Castle with the current Countess,” said Isobel. “Coming up in the world?”  
“The Countess is a very old friend,” said Janice evenly. “We are distant cousins.”  
‘Perhaps I may visit you there? I would love to meet your younger children, and pay my respects to the Countess.”  
“The Countess is very hospitable; I will ask if we might invite guests, and let you know,” said Janice. She had an absurd reluctance to invite this oddly hard and distant woman to the castle.  
“Alec, that was awful!” she said, as John Ferguson ferried them back to Vairy Castle. “I scarcely recognised her from the gentle girl who came to Samoa.”  
“You and I both,” said Alec. “I wonder what hardened her so much? So glib and critical. Well, we don’t have to have much to do with her, and if she is working with the WRENS, I imagine they will keep her busy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I owe this expression to Elizabeth Gould, who wrote in her diary in 1838 while in Australia, with her husband John Gould, doing research for “The Birds of Australia”, that “our friends do not tire our eyes with their correspondence”.  
> ** An allusion to Hilary Gordon, who married Patricia Gardiner, from the books by L.M. Montgomery, “Pat of Silver Bush” and “Mistress Pat”.  
> *** As mentioned in “Rachel in the Abbey”  
> **** Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941): “The one who plants trees, knowing that he will never sit in their shade, has at least started to understand the meaning of life”  
> from https://www.roger-pearse.com/weblog/2017/08/26/a-society-grows-great-when-old-men-plant-trees-in-whose-shade-they-know-they-shall-never-sit-an-ancient-greek-proverb/  
> ***** WREN – Women’s Royal Naval Service


	31. Janice joins the Defence Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janice joins the Defence Force, and revives an old talent.

“How long would you like to stay here, Alec? I know we suggested a month to Rosamund,” said Janice. “Not that I am keen to leave,” she added hastily. “Rosamund is the soul of hospitality. But she does have a horde to look after and I hate to add to that. I am enjoying the Defence Force work though,” she added.  
“I really do want to visit the sequoias and rhododendrons, Jandy, and you would love to see them,” said Alec. “But I have some other work to do as well. I am sure that on those days you and Rosamund will have plenty to do.”  
“You must become an honorary member of the LSWDF,” Rosamund had said, when Janice had settled in. “The Loch Shee Women’s Defence Force,” she explained, as Janice looked mystified.  
“That sounds rather exciting!” said Janice. “Tell me about it!” Rosamund explained why the defence force had been started, and the bringing together of the women of the district for training.  
“We do patrols, and compile reports on unfamiliar watercraft, aircraft, vehicle movements, and any lights noticed at night during the blackout. And each night, two members of the Force keep watch on a roster, taking turns to observe the skies and waters, from the Castle walls. Then we regularly report to the authorities, especially if anything seems suspicious or worrying.”  
“There is something very special about those long nights, at times star lit, and at other times darkly clouded,” said Rosamund thoughtfully. “One seems to feel the company of other sentries or lookouts from long ago, watching for invaders or aggressors.”  
Janice looked at her in surprise, having little experience of the deeper side of Rosamund’s nature.  
“I know how well you ride,” said Rosamund, rousing herself from the brief reverie. “Would you like to do district patrols? We have a small stable of Highland ponies, which are very sturdy and hardy. They don’t even need to be shod.”  
“That sounds wonderful. What other skills are you training in? said Janice, intrigued by this novel venture.  
“Shooting, which means target practice, signalling, and observation skills, and simple things like checking blackout measures,” said Rosamund.  
“Uncle Tony, Joy’s uncle, who was my friend in Sydney,” she reminded Rosamund, “taught me how to shoot different calibre rifles in Australia. It wouldn’t take me long to brush up, I think. And I couldn’t help learning signalling from Len. You know he has trained all the Guides in the area, and is now working for the Royal Signals Unit?” she said proudly.  
“I can see you will be an asset to us,” said Rosamund.  
An experienced horse rider, Janice took to riding a hardy Highland pony, and enjoyed doing patrols with Rosalin and Patch, or on her own, around the loch shores. The younger women were mystified by the name Janice gave her pony, Garryowen, or Garry for short, for they knew it as a Gaelic word, and she always shook her head when they asked her to tell them the story that led to the name. All she would say was that she had known another horse called Garryowen.**  
Each week, the Force met to drill in target practice, small arms use, and signalling, practising in their homes between sessions. Under Geoffrey’s guidance, careful local maps were hand-drawn by the women who knew the area well, omitting placenames. The maps showed significant land marks, using a secret code, that could help guide those who needed to know through the rough country between the lochs and settlements, and the many confusing waterways.  
“Do we have any women who do embroidery in the area?” asked Geoffrey during one of these sessions. Everyone looked at him in surprise, wondering where this could be leading.  
“Quite a few of the older women, including my Aunt Kirsty, used to earn money making lace and sewing,” said Rosalin, unsure what use this could be. Some of the other women murmured agreement, remembering grandmothers, mothers and aunts with skills in needlework.  
“An infrequent espionage strategy in the first war was to use embroidery for sending messages,” explained Geoffrey. “Some used cross-stitch, with the number of crosses giving information about the number of a battalion, and others used initials or codes. I am thinking that embroidered handkerchiefs of our maps would be safer and more durable than paper maps. It would take an experienced agent to remember that history.”  
“Do you know about the Marian Hanging?” said Patricia, remembering something mentioned by a history lecturer during her university days. “Mary Queen of Scots made a set of huge embroidered panels during her imprisonment, and it was said to contain coded messages. In part it contributed to her being charged with treason.”***  
“I haven’t heard of that,” exclaimed Rosamund. “I’d like to think we were reviving an old tradition though! It’s the opposite of treason, thankfully.”  
“And flax has been grown and spun into linen in Scotland for hundreds of years,” said Rosalin. “We could use linen handkerchiefs – they have strong threads, easy to count, and very regular in their weave.”  
Thus a new venture developed, with some of the women and a few older men in the district making cleverly embroidered handkerchiefs for each member of the LSWDF. Of course, they didn’t know the significance of the designs they were asked to make, as much for the own safety as for secrecy.  
Janice was quickly finding that, on her pony, and using the handkerchief map that showed landmarks, she could find her way easily overland between the Castle, Jean’s home and Dimsie’s home. The dun coat of the pony, and Janice’s khaki coloured clothing, meant that she could move almost undetectably and silently across the landscape. No-one paid much attention to the eccentric Australian lady who liked to go for a ride every day.  
Since the unfortunate meeting at Isobel’s lodging, there had been an invitation to the Castle, and a rather stilted first meeting with Rosamund, who had played ‘the Countess’, to Janice’s secret amusement. Rosamund had given the impression that she was definitely part of English aristocracy. Janice suspected that Isobel might be something of a snob, and was not likely to besiege Rosamund with such curiosity as Isobel had displayed at their own first meeting. Then again, everyone knew Rosamund’s history since her marriage; it was on public record.  
Funnily enough, Rosamund and Isobel took to each other, and a subsequent invitation was issued to Isobel for dinner. But when Rosamund broached the idea of Isobel joining the Defence Force, it was quietly declined. “I’m already working with the WRENs, you see,” said Isobel, expecting that Rosamund might understand the implications of that statement.  
“You are lucky not to have to live on a base,” said Rosamund, with something of a question in her voice.  
“Yes, I admit it is a little unusual,” said Isobel. “But because I am with the Canadian Women’s Forces, I am something of a free agent.” Rosamund looked at her questioningly again, but the reply was merely a steady gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * A comet was visible over Europe through the winter of 1942-43.  
> ** Garryowen was a horse belonging to an Australian woman, Violet Murrell. Violet, her two horses and dog died in a stable fire in 1934, and Violet died trying to rescue them. Her husband also died from burns received trying to save her. Every year a special event known as the Garryowen Equestrienne Event is held at the Melbourne Royal Show to commemorate Violet and her horse Garryowen. https://www.tophorse.com.au/the-garryowen__vicarticle1__F#:~:text=Alas%2C%20all%20were%20overcome%20by,from%20the%20burns%20he%20received. https://localhistory.kingston.vic.gov.au/articles/451  
> *** http://www.schoolofancientcrafts.org.uk/21.html ; https://www.vam.ac.uk/articles/prison-embroideries-mary-Queen-of-scots


	32. The mystery of Isobel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Isobel a friend or foe?

On one of her rides, at twilight, Janice was surprised to see another person, possibly a woman, mounted on a Highland pony like her own, trotting purposefully, perhaps half a mile ahead of her across the moors. Like Janice’s pony, the rider’s mount was dull coloured, and so it was only the movement which attracted her attention.  
Some instinct prompted her to rein in quietly, dismount, and stand still, while her pony cropped the low grass tussocks. After a minute, the other rider stopped, and, perhaps half a mile away, still mounted, began to make arm movements in the air.   
To Janice’s deep astonishment, some figures emerged from the thickets down near the loch’s edge, and themselves signalled to the rider. With her new knowledge of semaphore, Janice could see that they were rapidly making a series of letters, but she couldn’t piece the letters into words that she recognised.   
“My goodness, I wonder if they are not using English at all,” she thought, aghast at the implications of that.  
The rider approached the figures, of whom there were about six, dressed in clothing so muted in colour as to be almost invisible in the gathering dusk. Their faces were dark too. “Is that camouflage?” thought Janice.  
Now dismounting, the rider walked close to the figures, and, for a moment, turned to scan the landscape. A chance late ray of late sunlight, far in the western sky, fell on the person’s face, and Janice was hard put to stifle a gasp. For the person was undoubtedly Isobel!  
What on earth was she doing, and who were these other people?   
“What am I to do?” thought Janice. “If I move, they will notice me. But I can’t sit here all evening.”  
Fortunately, the meeting at the loch side did not last long. The shadowy figures disappeared as silently as they had emerged, and Isobel mounted her pony, and rode slowly away south along the loch shore. She did not look back.  
Early the following morning, Janice was weighing in her mind what she should do about the meeting she had observed the previous evening. Reports from patrols and sentry duty were usually collated by midday and then sent by courier to the commander of the nearest army base. She knew it would be wrong to withhold the details of what she had seen. So far, she had mentioned it to no-one.  
A note was handed to her by a maid. It was from Isobel, asking her to a meeting as soon as possible that morning. Wishing she could discuss it with Alec, who happened to be away in Edinburgh for a few days, Janice decided that she could manage the meeting on her own. Perhaps there really was an explanation.  
Arriving at Isobel’s accommodation, she was shown into a parlour and Isobel came in a minute later.   
“Janice, thank you for coming. I must congratulate you on your discrete movements through the landscape,” she said.   
Janice gasped. “When have you seen me?” she asked, not wishing to allude to the previous day’s events, unless Isobel did first.  
“Quite a few times, but I think you make no secret of your daily rides. I didn’t expect to see you yesterday down on the loch shore though.”  
Now the subject was out, Janice wasted no time in getting to the point.   
“Isobel, we send reports daily to the base commander. What on earth were you doing? Are you a spy? You were signalling in another language,” Janice said, as unemotionally as she could. What would she do if Isobel said yes? Was she in danger?  
“Thank you for not jumping to conclusions,” said Isobel drily. “You know I am in the Canadian Women’s Forces. What you won’t know is that I speak Norwegian. I haven’t stayed in Canada all my life since leaving Samoa.”  
“There are Norwegian training camps at remote locations all around Scotland. I am a trainer. We know that mines are being laid along the coastline by the Germans, and the people you saw me with yesterday are training to monitor and locate mines, so that they can be safely discharged or defused. I was supervising their navigation training around the loch shore. I didn’t expect anyone to be there at that time. I was careless, and you were clever. Now, what are we going to do about it?” Isobel sat back in her chair, looking steadily at Janice.  
“How do I know I can believe you?” said Janice.   
“Very good, your Defence Force is training you well,” replied Isobel. “You could apply to your husband for verification, or to the Earl of Kentisbury. Or, if you like, submit your report to the base commander, and see if it goes any further. I think you will find it is quietly sent to my commander.”  
Janice sighed in relief. “Oh Isobel, I didn’t want to think bad of you. Thank you for trusting me with this information.”  
“I do know I can trust you, Janice,” said Isobel. “I haven’t given you many reasons to think you can trust me, but I hope you know we are on the same side.”  
“I feel a bit ashamed to think I even questioned that you might be involved in … questionable… activity,” said Janice.   
“I think it shows your good sense,” said Isobel frankly. “I know all about the events of the early war that affected the Gilmours, for example. It pays not to be too trusting. But at some point, we have to trust someone, even standoffish sisters-in-law.”  
“Are you talking about me, or yourself?” said Janice wryly.   
“Both of us, I think,” said Isobel, holding out a hand. “Shake,” she said briefly. The masculine gesture was in keeping with the moment, but for the first time since Samoa, Janice felt some closeness and admiration for her sister-in-law.  
“What should I do about my report?” said Janice. “I don’t want to prejudice your work.”  
“Make the report,” said Isobel. “It’s the job you have taken on. You can’t hold back from that duty. But it is all to the good, I think. I’ve been worried that someone might observe my trainees in this area; it is just too populated, compared to some of the more northern areas. But there is great concern that the Firth of Clyde is being mined by submarine, and there is danger to shipping and even local ferries. A special trial of some new technology is to take place soon too, and my troop is to be involved. Your report will let the commanders know that we have been observed, and to rethink some of the strategies. As for saying that you recognised me, there is no need. They will know whom you saw.”  
Janice stood to go. “Thank you for being straight with me, Isobel. I hope you stay safe. If the Defence Force can help, perhaps talk to Rosamund.”  
“But I already have,” said Isobel. Again, there was that frank and open look.   
Understanding dawned on Janice’s face; no wonder the Countess and Isobel had had more than one meeting. Rosamund wasn’t giving anything away, but Janice knew that the LSDWF would do all they could to help protect Isobel and her trainees.


	33. Sweet Cicely Queen - May 1942

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another daughter of a former Queen is May Queen, and Biddy's daughters make their mark.

The Hamlet Club had chosen: Cicely Joy Everett, Cissy, was to be the new May Queen.   
“What flower has Cissy chosen?” asked her mother’s friend, Joan. Cicely the elder had seen almost every Queen crowned, and was thrilled that her first daughter was now to be Queen, joining Miriam, Joan and Janice in this special honour. Her earlier concern that Cissy was not a leader had diminished; all types of people had been Queen, and not all of them had been like the President herself. As her sensible friend Jen had said to her, “another President would be one too many.” She felt the club had sensed Cissy’s dependability, and the sense of calm she inspired. She would be a restful Queen, after the mercurial Celia.   
“I think her idea is very original, and I’m surprised I didn’t think of it myself,” said Cicely proudly. “She has chosen Sweet Cicely, or British Myrrh.”  
“Oh, what a lovely choice,” agreed Joan. “We are so lucky to have occasional stands of it up on the hills, but Jen has said she often used to see it in the north. It often gets confused with cow parsley, of course. Has Margia made her robe?”  
“Not this year,” said Cicely sadly. “Poor Margia can’t manage it any more, because of arthritis in her fingers, so Mary Dorothy has stepped in, with help from Cissy herself. Would you like to see it?”  
Joan was surprised when she saw the fabric used for the robe. Instead of its being made of a colour representing the flowers, like most Queens, Cissy had chosen to have a simple natural coloured homespun linen. The beauty of the robe was in its decoration.  
“I have an evening cloak which belonged to my grandmother, that Cissy always has loved,” said Cicely. “It is dark blue velvet with cream embroidery of Sweet Cicely over it, and she dearly wanted to wear it. But it is really too formal for the club, so she elected to copy it, but using the colours of the flowers and leaves. Velvet is hard to come by just now, and rather too grand, so the linen seemed in keeping with the austerity everyone is trying to practise.”   
Joan exclaimed as she carefully turned the robe this way and that, admiring the large clusters of white flowers and green stems and fernlike leaves embroidered all the way up the robe to the raised neckline. Rather than embroider the flowers, Mary had copied the technique of the cloak, and she and Cissy herself had sewn small flower shapes onto the fabric with a French knot, giving the embroidery a three-dimensional quality.  
“It’s quite stunning and unusual,” said Joan, “and I am sure Cissy will look a picture.”  
The procession of Queens formed the following evening. Cissy’s entry in her neutral-coloured robe, heavily embroidered down its full length with long stems and raised heads of Sweet Cicely, provoked applause, and she smiled shyly, as she walked behind the last Queen, Miriam’s second daughter, also Cicely. Their trains were proudly held by Madelon and Marie Rose, as the newest girls in the school. Cissy was duly crowned, with the outgoing Queen Nasturtium, her best friend, placing the white crown of narcissus on her head, while Nasturtium wore a thick crown of forget-me-nots, the blue in dramatic contrast to the orange of her robe. Everyone took comfort in the familiar ritual, unaware that, in another part of England, a tragedy was taking place. It would be months before the friends would hear of that sad event.   
“I hope we will still be watching this ceremony when we are grand-mothers,” said Jen to Joy. “Gracious, Jandy is already a grand-mother. I keep forgetting that! Andrew doesn’t show any signs of getting married just yet, thank goodness. Can you imagine my baby boy, a husband or father? Joan and Cicely might be our first Hamlet club grandmothers, though. How nicely they arranged for Jansy and Dickon to marry!”  
“I’m not sure they had much to do with it, other than giving them opportunities to get to know each other,” said Joy. “That cruise!” she laughed.*   
The celebrations included a concert by school students, and one of the items was a piano duet by the French girls, Madelon and Marie Verdier, who stepped up to the piano, from where they sat at the feet of their Queens. Without sheet music, they played a sparkling rendition of Busoni’s transcription of Mozart’s Magic Flute duet. Joy’s eyes opened wide in amazement, and Maidlin leant forward to exchange a startled glance with Mary. Ivor Quellyn sat back and fitted the tips of his fingers together speculatively, as the two girls, without a trace of nervousness, played through the piece with poise and verve. There was enthusiastic applause and a call for an encore. Unsure of the etiquette, Madelon glanced towards Miss Raven, who nodded and smiled her agreement. To everyone’s surprise, Madelon stood and addressed the audience.   
“Mesdames et Monsieurs, my sister and I thank you. We will now play “Primavera”, by our countrywoman Cécile Chaminade.”  
The delicate piece, played again from memory, suited the girls completely, and Joy Marchwood was stirred to think of possible duets she might write for them. Applause and comment rang out after the conclusion of the piece, as the girls curtsied and walked from the stage.  
“By Jove,” said Ken Marchwood later, to Ivor Quellyn. “I knew the girls were disappearing into the music room and giving Andrew’s old piano a workout, but I never dreamed they were that proficient.”  
“They have been very well taught indeed,” said Ivor. “I wonder whom they learned from in Switzerland and France?”  
Then Madelon accompanied Cicely Dancer, who sang “Jerusalem”, to everyone’s delight. “Jerusalem” had become an unofficial anthem of the war, and was sung at every Women’s Institute meeting in the land. That closed the concert, after which the Queens and maids retired to change for a brief spell of dancing.   
“That little girl has a future, don’t you think, Ivor?” murmured Jock Robertson. “She’s very young yet, but Maid says that Miriam has been watching her carefully and getting good tutors for her voice.”  
“A new Abbey singer,” said Ivor. “With her own accompanist! I think a chat to Madame Brigitte Verdier and Mrs Dancer is in order.”  
“Madelon has the confidence of her mother,” said Jen later to Mary-Dorothy, who was beaming with pride at her nieces’ performance and sudden rise to prominence. Mary could read music, having learned piano as a child, but loss of her brothers and parents at a young age had brought so much grief into her life that she had abandoned any interest in playing music. Biddy had learned at school, but their changed circumstances after the death of their parents meant her music tuition was not continued. Both had relished the experience of dance, which had given them a new chance at musical expression, and enjoyment in perusing the scores which Jen lent them. Biddy had acquired a tin whistle in those days, copying Jen, and had become very proficient in its use.**  
“Madelon certainly is growing into her personality,” said Mary. “I believe the Verdier family are very musical. Etienne has a fine tenor voice, according to Biddy. One of the sisters studied at the Paris Conservatoire, and there is a member of the Paris Opera Orchestra somewhere in their history. I hope their father can hear about this concert through letter or telephone.”  
Madelon made a name for herself in the school that night, and it was with great pleasure that she entered into school life, now as someone with a particular talent, rather than just “one of those French girls”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Cicely Everett invited Jansy Raymond to accompany her family on a cruise after the baby Shirley Rose died. See “Two Queens at the Abbey”.  
> ** See “The Abbey Girls Again” and “The Abbey Girls in Town”


	34. Secrets - Autumn 1942

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fruit collecting expedition has an unexpected outcome.

It was mid-autumn. The hedgerows were full of ripe berries, and the old damson orchard had a heavy crop. Usually overlooked, it was now keenly sought after for jams and pies, and Elizabeth and Margaret had gone off on one of their jam jaunts, with thirteen-year-old Rosemary Marchwood as companion, and their brother David, now twelve. He was a regular member of their evening excursions, while Richard and Maidie Rose stayed home to help in the garden, or do their homework and piano practice.  
All four were dressed in the colours of autumn: Elizabeth and Margaret proudly wearing soft cinnamon-coloured jumpers knitted years before by Aunt Jen, and Rosemary in a dull crimson that suited her dark hair. David wore his jumper knitted by Aunt Mary, in chocolate brown, with a row of small trains cleverly worked along the front. It was getting a little small for him but was still his favourite. The twins’ auburn heads, and the dark heads of David and Rosemary, were indistinguishable among the browning leaves of the old trees, and against the background of the beech leaves.  
They were not noticed by the purposeful figure striding up a lane towards the ridge, for they had spread out in the orchard, each intent on picking the most damsons, in a quiet, slow rhythm. Sweet, juicy and plentiful, the fruit were good to eat too, and more than one found its way into each thirsty picker’s mouth. It was warmer than they had thought, and each was relieved to fill their bucket, and to look around to find the others. It was their usual custom to meet at the orchard gate, and compare buckets, before returning to the Manor and the Hall with their bounty for the next day’s jam making.  
By common accord, they climbed the old gate, and sat gazing to the west at the promise of a sunset of great beauty, with streaks of gold starting to form across the purpling sky.  
“What’s that?” said Rosemary to no-one in particular.  
“What are you looking at, Rosemary?” said Elizabeth, unsure of where she meant.  
“The sun is in my eyes, so I can’t see it all the time, but it looks like a flash.”  
“It must be the sun reflecting on a window, or something,” said Margaret idly, replaiting her hair which had come undone, caught on a low branch of the damson tree.  
“Isn’t the sun behind it?” said David.  
“Actually, I think you are right,” said Elizabeth. “I can see the flashes too. They seem to be repeating a pattern.”  
“Have you forgotten our lessons with Uncle Len?” said Margaret suddenly. “Has anyone got some paper and a pencil?”  
They all looked at each other blankly. “Oh come on, we don’t need that. Just all concentrate and try to read the messages,” said Elizabeth hastily. “Quick, before they stop.” She cleared her mind as much as she could, and concentrated on the flashes.  
“Who are they being sent to?” said Rosemary, turning around to look behind them. The ground rose fairly steeply up towards the ridge behind them, but in a clearing about the now thinning tree line she could see a figure. And that figure was sending signals too, but with flags. Rosemary’s heart felt like it stopped beating. The others were watching the flashes intently, and no-one but she was watching the other figure. She dared not move in case he saw her looking his way. What was he signalling? What was it? He kept making J, she remembered that easily, right hand up, left hand straight. And also the figure for numbers, right hand up, left hand diagonal up. Was he doing a combination of numbers and letters? Oh, if only she could remember! For a moment, she closed her eyes, thinking of the lessons at the Herb Garden. And Elizabeth’s words came back to her. “It’s like music, A to G,” and Margaret signalling the numbers in the same way. That was it! G was seven, so left arm straight out must be 6.  
Back to front J? Right arm out, left arm high? Oh, what was it? Right arm out, left arm diagonal was the start of something… that was it, the letter O. So the next letter was P.  
She carefully started to work out the puzzle. The first letter was P, then O, then he changed to numbers, then back to letters. 6 – 2 – 9, h-a-m-b-u-r-g. Goodness knew what that meant, but she was positive now that this was the message.  
Within seconds, the messages stopped from both signallers. It had been less than a minute from start to finish.  
“Off the gate, quick” muttered Margaret. They all climbed quickly down, and as silently as they could, melted into the shadows behind the hedgerow near the gate, crouched on the ground. Footsteps, muted in the lane, passed them by swiftly after a few minutes, and for many more they crouched, fearful of discovery.  
“Is it safe, now, do you think?” said Margaret quietly to her sister. “We haven’t heard anything for quite a while.”  
“I think so,” said Elizabeth cautiously rising. “Yes, I can’t see anyone around. Quick, let’s get home and tell Dad and Uncle Ken.”  
“What was the message you saw, Margaret?” panted Rosemary, as they all ran as quickly as they could to the Manor, which happened to be nearest, lugging their heavy buckets, and hoping not to spill too many.  
“Send address, address received, end of message,” said Margaret. “Did you see a message too?”  
“Yes,” said Rosemary. “I am sure it said PO 629 Hamburg.”*  
They all looked grim; even David knew where Hamburg was. Thankfully they stumbled into the kitchen door at the Manor, left their baskets with the surprised cook, and ran through to the study where Ken Marchwood was sitting with Ivor Quellyn.  
“Thank goodness you are both here,” said Margaret, in relief. “We’ve seen some signalling up on the ridge, and away to the west.”  
“Tell us,” said Ken briefly, and took a pen and paper. Margaret repeated the message she and Elizabeth and David had watched, and then Rosemary proudly recited the message only she had seen.  
“You are quite sure it was PO 629?” said Ivor. “Rosemary, this is very important.”  
“I am quite sure,” she said, a little anxiously. Had she got it right? “It was like this.”  
Silently they all watched as she re-created the message accurately.  
“We have to report this as soon as possible,” said Ken. “Well done, kids, but you have to keep this secret. You can never tell anyone, not even Mother, or Mary-Dorothy, or Uncle Len, and definitely not the other children. It might put you and them in danger. Do you understand?” They all nodded, eyes wide with surprise. “Do you think anyone saw you?”  
“We don’t think so, Uncle Ken,” said Elizabeth cautiously. “We were a long way into the orchard, and then sitting on the gate. Then we hid behind the hedge.”  
“We never called out to each other or anything,” added Margaret.  
“Was it spies?” said Rosemary, rather nervously.  
“Let’s not use that word, Rosemary,” said her father, taking her onto his knee. “Do you think you might know who it was?” Ken looked troubled. Had the child recognised the signaller? She might really be in danger then.  
“No, he was a long way away,” she said. “But it was a man, I think.”  
“You may have all done a very fine piece of observation. Len would be proud of his pupils,” said Ivor. “Margaret, you might not get to work for MI5 but that’s exactly where this information has to go. Well done, all of you.”  
“Will we ever know what happens next, Daddy?” said David.  
“Probably not, old son,” said Ivor. “Or, maybe, when you are about sixty years old.”  
“Who would have thought collecting fruit for jam making could be so exciting?” said Margaret.  
“I just hope it is never that exciting again,” said their uncle. “Perhaps we should choose a less quiet time of day in future, when more people are around. You’ve alerted us to the need for more patrols, but we don’t want you to have to do them. Thanks, all of you. If I could, I would give you each a medal.”  
“No soldier could have done better,” said Ivor Quellyn. “Your father would have been very proud of you, Elizabeth and Margaret, and I am too of all of you, just as Ken is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PO 629 Hamburg was an address discovered by MI5 before the war, through information gained from the activities of a female spy in Scotland. It was the destination for reports from spies based in Britain and elsewhere. The address was never compromised, and reports continued to be sent to the address throughout the war, but were intercepted by MI5. This gave the English advance warning of many German plans.


	35. A Friend Lost - December 1942

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary reads of the death of a friend in a newsletter.

Mary opened a newsletter from the English Folk Dancing Society, after she had finished breakfast. It was issued annually in December, and was always eagerly anticipated for its news. Not many societies were still sending out newsletters, so she was interested to see the information it contained. Joy looked up in distress when, after a few minutes, Mary cried out.  
“Oh no,” said Mary, “I can’t believe it. The Pixie is dead. She died in May this year.”  
“Not the Pixie? In May?” said Joy, in astonishment. “Why haven’t we heard before this? Do they say what happened?”  
“No,” said Mary, “Only that ‘the news of her death will come as a great shock to her friends.’* How upset Joan and Jen, and Cicely, will be. She was such a good friend to us all.”  
“It certainly is a great shock,” said Joy, remembering with sorrow the tiny friend whose energy and enthusiasm had so inspired many. “I wonder if she was doing war work. Perhaps she had gone overseas again with the troops? Surely not, it would be too dangerous.”  
“Didn’t she used to teach at the big YMCA in Plaistow?” asked Ivor, who recalled the stories Joy had told him of her folk dancing days, renewed now by the presence in the village and surrounds of so many East End evacuee children.  
“Yes,” said Mary, deeply disturbed by this news. “I took some classes there with her, and taught a children’s class as well.” She exchanged a sad smile with Joy as they both remembered what that class had brought to their relationship.  
“I heard that a school near there was being used as a temporary shelter, but was hit by a bomb back in the early days of the Blitz [September 10, 1940]. There were many child casualties, perhaps as many as seventy,” said Ivor. “I hope there is no connection with your friend in that circumstance.”  
“We haven’t been to Plaistow for a long time,” said Joy, thinking over what Ivor had said, and wondering if there was a connection. Perhaps people the Pixie knew had been caught up in that tragedy? Could she have been injured, and died of her injuries much later?  
“Mary, would you like to travel up there one day with me to see what we can find out? We can ring ahead and see if someone can meet us. Maid and Ivor go up for concerts every week or so. I am sure we can travel safely to London just this once. Kentisbury House is always at our disposal if we need to stay overnight. I will see if Joan, or Jen, or Cicely would like to come too.”  
“Will there be room for us at Kentisbury House?” said Mary doubtfully.  
“Jock and Maid stay there sometimes,” said Joy, “and Ivor has as well. What with the officers billetted there and the housekeeping staff, it is always busy. But Ros was able to keep some bedrooms for the family and friends. Geoffrey has to be there for sittings of the House of course, occasionally.”  
“It’s a long train trip, Joy,” said Ivor, rather troubled by the thought of this journey. “You would have to get to Marylebone, then take two underground trains to Plaistow. You would be travelling for about three hours each way. Why don’t you plan your trip for a day when I have to do a concert in London, and we can use the car and fuel allowance for essential services?”  
It was two weeks later, approaching Christmas, before Joy and Mary set out with Ivor for London. The other friends, stricken at the news, were unable to accompany them. Frost drove Ivor to the National Gallery, where he would conduct an afternoon concert, then continued on following the river, east towards Plaistow. Joy and Mary gazed silently at the destruction as the car made its slow way through road blocks and past bombed buildings. When the shattered remains of the warehouses on the Isle of Dogs came into view, they were shocked by what they saw, all three remembering well the days when Joy had driven her small car, Eirene, into this neighbourhood. Later, Mary, driven by Frost himself, with a cargo of bluebells for the children of the Plaistow classes, had got to know the area well.  
“I believe, my lady, that this is the vicinity of the school that was bombed late in 1940,” said Frost, with the familiarity of a long-time member of the Abbey family, as he drove carefully up the unmarked Newnham Way, looking out for the turnoff north to Plaistow.  
“I wonder if we can find out anything more about that,” said Mary. “I somehow feel it is connected to the Pixie.”  
“It’s lucky we know our way, Frost,” said Joy. “With all the street signs removed it can be a bit confusing to know where we are, with so many buildings gone.”  
It wasn’t long before the car was able to draw up beside Greengate House, with its imposing façade. Joy and Mary, now nervous of what they would find out, began to get out of the car.  
“Find somewhere to have a cup of tea, Frost, but I don’t expect we will be more than an hour,” said Joy, gathering up her gas mask and bag. Inside, they were able to locate someone in charge, and were asked to wait in a small side room. They were both relieved and surprised when, within a few minutes, a familiar friend walked in.  
“Tazy!” cried Joy, relieved to see an old friend, especially in the circumstances. “We didn’t expect to see anyone we knew. How wonderful you are here!”  
“I must say the same for you, Joy, and – is it – Mary-Dorothy?” smiled Tazy, really Anastasia, Thistleton, holding out her hand in welcome to Mary after hugging Joy. Joy had first met Tazy, as Tazy Kingston, during their first folk-dancing school at Cheltenham, many years ago. They had reconnected in more recent years, when Tazy had attended weekend schools to reinvigorate the Hamlet Club.  
“How kind of you to remember,” said Mary, “Littlejan’s dancing school seems so long ago now. Can it be six or seven years?”**  
“How is that young Queen Marigold?” asked Tazy, taking a seat beside them.  
“Oh goodness, she is Mrs Fraser now and the mother of a three-year-old,” said Joy.  
“Of course,” said Tazy, “I hadn’t really forgotten – her husband was badly injured, wasn’t he? Is he coming along well now?”  
“Yes,” said Joy. “Len has had the best of care, and is walking quite well again, although with a stick still. He has been busy teaching all our guides and rangers signalling – morse and flags. They are getting very proficient!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * https://mardles.org/back-issues/mardles_16-3.pdf p.22 - the quotation I have used is almost verbatim from the actual newsletter. The description given by Tazy later in the next chapter is also drawn from this reference.  
> ** “An Abbey Champion”


	36. What happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The death of a good friend is described. I hope that the family of Daisy Daking will accept this description of her passing as a tribute to her. Even nearly eighty years later, her character still inspires others.

The women exchanged a few more questions and answers about families and friends, before Joy broached the question they had come to ask.  
“We read about the Pixie in the newsletter,” said Joy slowly. “Tazy, can you tell us anything about what happened to her?”  
“Yes, I can. I’m sorry I didn’t contact you directly with the news. But she must have been a friend to hundreds of people, and I found I just couldn’t keep saying it over and over again, and I couldn’t write it. You’ll understand why,” paused Tazy, taking a deep breath and sitting still for a moment. “You need to be prepared for a shock.” Mary and Joy looked at each other, unsure what to expect.  
“Daisy, or the Pixie, as you like to call her, died in hospital,” said Tazy bluntly. “She was found very ill at Charing Cross Station and taken to the hospital. I am sorry to have to tell you that she had drunk poison - Lysol.”  
This bald telling of such unexpected news completely unnerved both Joy and Mary. They gasped involuntarily, tears welled in their eyes, and they clasped each other’s hands, struggling to comprehend what they had heard.  
“Not the Pixie!” said Joy unbelievingly. “Why would she have done such a thing? She was always so brave, so…”  
“Indomitable,” finished Mary, her voice breaking. “I think she was the strongest and wisest person I ever knew.”  
“We all thought that,” said Tazy gravely, her own eyes full of tears. “We all leaned on her, and she seemed to be able to bear anything for all of us. But when her offer to do war work was refused – oh yes,” said Tazy, in response to exclamations from Joy and Mary, “she lost heart and didn’t know how she could help. She joined the WVS, even though she was beyond the age limit, and became an Air Raid Warden, but didn’t really feel she could contribute as much as the younger and bigger ones. And dancing couldn’t go on. Many of the children of the area were evacuated early in September 1939, and so she didn’t have children or teachers for classes any more. Night time was too dangerous for people to come here, so the place became rather deserted. Then a lot of children were brought back by their parents early in 1940 – you know how they talked about the ‘Phoney War’- and things were busier for a while. People got complacent, and she seemed happier. Then the Blitz came.”  
“My husband mentioned a bombing of a school nearby that year,” said Joy hesitatingly. “Do you think that had anything to do with her…”  
“Yes, I do,” said Tazy, definitely. “Lots of dance people say they can’t explain or understand what she did, but I think knowing that so many of her children and their families were killed was too much for her.”  
“Ivor said that seventy people may have died in that explosion,” ventured Joy.  
“Seventy! Ask the people who live around here if it was seventy,” said Tazy bitterly. She leaned forward, her eyes blazing. “Joy, people around here say that six hundred men, women and children were crammed into that school, where they had been sent to shelter. They were told they would be evacuated by buses, but the buses went to the wrong location. The families all were killed or buried under the rubble when the bomb fell directly on the school. There has been no worse civilian disaster in London, or England for that matter, in the whole of the war.”  
There was silence, but for the falling of tears. After a while, Tazy continued.  
“She was here that day, organising some activities. When the all clear sounded, everyone ran in the direction of the blast. They all knew it would be bad. She was in the WVS, as I said. They found the building flattened and so many bodies under the rubble. People she knew, children she knew. Most dead. And if not dead,” said Tazy in a tone of anguish, “wishing that they were. She helped to dig people out with her bare hands. I wasn’t here that day, but she talked about it a little to me. I could hardly bear it, and she tried to comfort me. Me!”  
“I understand,” said Mary, shivering. “Bearing that sorrow may have been too much for me, too.”  
“Of course, we can’t know for sure,” said Tazy, “but I will always believe that the soul of her died that day. But she still kept on, for eighteen months, and encouraged the community who were left, even then, and they finally managed to get permission to shelter in the tube stations. That it took so long – it makes me very angry.”  
“Has someone been able to manage her affairs?” said Joy, knowing from experience how difficult that could be. It would be at home, with her husband and friends, that Joy would allow herself to grieve.  
“Her aunt and uncle,” said Tazy, “who live where she had her caravan. They were dreadfully upset, having raised her of course. There is nothing more to be done.”  
“Was there a funeral service?” asked Mary, conscious that she knew so little of the Pixie’s life outside of dancing. She had been fitted by the Pixie for a handwoven dress years ago, and the Pixie herself had done the finishing of the sewing. But even then, the Pixie had always turned conversations to be about her visitors, not about herself.  
“Only a very private one. Her aunt and uncle didn’t want a lot of people, and anyway, it was so hard to travel. There is a quiet little cemetery full of flowers, where she rests now.”  
“Perhaps we could go there one day,” said Mary quietly, and after a little more chat and promises to keep safe, and to keep in touch, Mary and Joy made their way out to the car and the waiting Frost. Their thoughts as the car moved away back into the city were full of images of their friend, so tiny in form but great in spirit.  
After a while, Joy said, “What do you think we should tell the others, Mary? Should we tell them the whole story, as Tazy told us?”  
“I think that Joan and Jen and Cicely, and Ruth as well, ought to know,” said Mary. “We don’t have the right to decide to keep the story from them, since they might have been here with us today but for circumstance. But for others who didn’t know her – or knew her only as a member of the Society, their dancing teacher – perhaps, as Tazy said, it is best if they know only that she died, just as the newsletter said. She has a right to her privacy.”**  
“I just wish we could have done something,” said Joy brokenly. “Brought her to the Abbey – helped her find peace again.”  
“I think she must have been beyond the peace that can be found on Earth, Joy,” said Mary quietly. “I don’t know what you believe, but I would like to think of her dancing now in Heaven, surrounded by the children who went before.”  
“Thank you, Mary,” said Joy. “Yes, I will try to think of her like that, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Descriptions of the destruction of South Hallsville school are given here:  
> https://www.eastlondonhistory.co.uk/second-world-war-bombing-raid-south-hallsville-school/  
> https://www.eastlondonadvertiser.co.uk/news/bbc2-s-blitz-bombs-that-changed-britain-3672212  
> ** https://cecilsharpspeople.org.uk/daking-daisy.html


	37. A Proposal for Jen - January 1943

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jen is convinced to perform at a concert.

The drudgery of war continued, and each day brought fresh news of victory, conquest, retreat, invasion, the sinking of vessels, and tragedy. Rumours of atrocities began to spread, with names like Auschwitz and Belsen murmured with horror in various quarters. Leaders such as Mussolini, Montgomery, Stalin, and Churchill were continuously on people’s minds, then places such as Midway, Pearl Harbour, and the Coral Sea, previously never even heard of, began to figure prominently. The fall of Singapore twelve months prior had brought dread to those with Australian friends, for so many British and Australians were now missing, feared dead, or imprisoned under frightful circumstances, and terrible stories of privation had emerged over the last year.   
The Abbey slumbered quietly, having known many eras of destruction and war, and suffered irreparable damage itself under the orders of Henry VIII. The monks who lay beneath the cloister garth, and the Abbot Michael in his tomb in the crypt, and Ambrose, the lay brother who had devoted his life to the Abbey, slept on, the signs and symbols of their lives bringing comfort to the Abbey denizens. All the friends sat often in the grounds of the Abbey, together or alone, absorbing its atmosphere of peace, and its witness of patient suffering, and felt revitalised by its peace and timelessness, and its emblems of endurance. The revived gatehouse garden, described by Ambrose in his book of Jehane, had the aura of timelessness.  
“At least America is in the war now, and with the fall of Stalingrad, things look more hopeful on the Eastern Front,” said Len Fraser to his father-in-law, Alec, one day. “The winter was too much for the German troops thankfully, and with so many Soviet troops they were overrun.”  
“I wouldn’t want to be a prisoner of war there,” said Alec. “I can’t imagine any of them will ever make it home again. What with the cold, and starvation, they would have dreadful conditions.”  
In late July the bombing raids of Hamburg left everyone feeling deeply disturbed. Thousands of civilians were known to have died. The children of Germany were as precious as any others, and so many had died.  
The French Free Army had formed, and was supporting the actions of the French resistance. Biddy lived in fear for her husband’s life, for she suspected he was treading a fine line, of appearing to appease the Germans, while also working secretly for the resistance.   
Madelon and Marie settled into life at the Manor, with Jen making sure they were treated as members of the family. Fortunately, the hoped-for friendships with Rosemary and Katharine developed, and the faithful Hermione was still integrated into the broader set of friends, with more diverse interests and amusements.   
Jen had great fun teaching the girls the minuets and dances for four, or occasionally six or eight, when the twins from the Hall, and Cecily Rose, would visit. At Biddy’s prompting, she had unearthed her precious three-holed pipe, and she was rapidly achieving her former level of proficiency. With its two-octave range, the pipe provided plenty of scope for tune making, and Joy and Jen worked together creating new tunes, then teaching accompaniments to Madelon and Marie.   
“I think that suite of Rob Quellyn’s should be performed in one of the National Gallery concerts,” said Ivor one evening, after Jen had left. “Do you think we could convince Jen to play the solo pipe part? Such extraordinary natural musicality, she has. A most unusual gift and instrument.”  
“I’ll ask her,” said Joy excitedly, thrilled that Ivor was so enthusiastic about Jen’s playing. A real friendship between Jen and Ivor looked possible now, rather than just the cordial relationship necessitated by Joy’s long friendship with her, and their children being cousins. Jen had always been a little overawed by Ivor, who could be a bit abrupt, and moved in the highest cultural circles.   
When Joy put the proposal to Jen, she was, as expected, appalled at the prospect.  
“Me! On stage at a classical concert?” Lady Marchwood became ungrammatical in her horror. “I would feel like a great galumphing elephant with my tiny pipe, in front of those violinists and ‘cellos. And imagine having Ivor conducting!”  
“I think it would be played as a chamber piece, with no conductor necessary,” Joy soothed. “You used to play your pipe in front of all sorts of people when we danced,” she said. “This would be different only in that people would be sitting down to listen. Don’t you think it would be slacking not to support these wonderful concerts for all those poor Londoners who have suffered so much?”  
“Don’t you trick me into agreeing by appealing to my better self, Joy Quellyn,” said Jen in mock severity. “I’ll think about it.”  
Joy contented herself with having planted the idea, resolved on a private chat soon with Ken, and went to report to Ivor on Jen’s reaction. She was confident that a concert featuring Lady Marchwood would soon be advertised.  
When the great day came, Jen was taken by surprise. Rob Quellyn had sent her the music of the suite, which was quite easy for her to read and learn, and she loved the melodies and echoes of the dance tunes they all knew and loved.  
But the actual performance came about unexpectedly.   
“A performer has had to pull out at short notice,” said Maidlin, ringing from the Pallant, one Tuesday evening. “I can’t do it, and neither can Jock. But we have a small ensemble who are prepared to play Rob’s suite, Jen, if you can do the pipe part. Will you do it?”  
“When?” said Lady Marchwood, breathlessly, horrified that this event might actually take place.  
“Tomorrow,” said Maidlin uneasily, unsure what Jen’s reaction would be. As Joan could have predicted, it was a shriek.   
“You can’t mean it Maidie,” said Jen. “Why we haven’t even had time to rehearse!”  
“If you could come down a little early,” said Maidlin reassuringly, “the group can meet you at twelve, and you can run through a few times before the actual concert at three. There are only four short movements, Jen, I am sure you can do it. The others know it already. Think of how disappointed the audience would be if there was no concert,” she said, shrewdly, playing to Jen’s sense of duty.   
“You are as bad as Joy, do you know that, Maidlin Robertson?” said Jen, knowing there was no way she could get out of this. “I’m glad you can’t be there!”   
Delighted at the turn of events, Ken drove Jen into town the next morning, leaving plenty of time for her to settle at the National Gallery, change into a fresh frock, and meet the players who would perform with her. There was a surprise in store for her.  
“Karen!” she said, unable to believe that her friend of years ago at Cheltenham was there, holding a violin. And then she groaned. “Not you, Rob Quellyn! I had been hoping you wouldn’t be here.”  
“And miss my premiere?” said Rob, giving her a quick hug. “Not on your life, Lady M. Now, let’s go over this piece, and then we can give you some lunch.”  
“Lady M!” laughed Jen. “That’s efficient anyway, and I have certainly never been called that before. Alright, let’s get it over and done with.”  
By the time the Gallery room had filled to capacity, Jen was resigned to her fate, and confessed herself to be more nervous than she had ever felt. “Is this what it’s like for Rosalind, and even for Maidlin?” she said to Karen Brown. “I feel sick!”  
“The first time is usually the worst,” said Karen, “but you will find once you start playing that you feel better. And the best thing about a premiere,” she added, “is that no-one knows but the players if you miss a note. Don’t worry, Jen, we’ll look after you. No matter what, we will keep playing!”  
“That’s what we used to say about dancing, just keep going,” laughed Jen. “Alright, I’m ready.”  
The audience, as usual, applauded the players warmly for their courage and generosity in performing these war time concerts. Jen smiled at the capacity crowd, secretly grateful that years of bazaar openings had given her the ability to put on her “everlasting silly grin” as she called it. But then she turned to look at Karen, who had the first notes, and experienced for perhaps the first time the joy of performing in a group, with really accomplished players. She began to smile and look at each player in turn as the sprightly tunes were shared between Karen’s violin and Rob’s cello, and her pipe. And unconsciously, Jen relaxed and began to move with the music, as she had always done in the Abbey and the barn, her grace and musicality demanding a tapping foot and nodding head.   
In the audience, Ken thought he would burst with pride at seeing his wife perform on stage like this, and giving such a charming rendition of Rob’s clever work. Beside him sat Robin, her youngest baby asleep in her arms, and when the applause rang out the startled baby wakened and let out a wail, which made everyone laugh, including Jen. Calls for the composer saw Rob stand and bow, and then the three players held hands and bowed together, before they cleared the stage for a singer who was to follow them.   
To Jen’s delight, it was Biddy who greeted her with a hug as she walked off the stage, and then Joy and Ivor. “Bravo, little sister Jen,” said Joy. “I knew you could do it.”  
“Very fine, Jen,” said Ivor. “Albert Hall next?”   
“When fish grow on trees, Ivor,” said Jen to her brother-in-law, “But oh, Biddy, I am so glad you encouraged me. Without you, I would never have done it. I’ve done something now I never dreamed I could. I may never do it again…” Everyone laughed, and Jen looked at them suspiciously. “Don’t get ideas, you lot,” she said, and demanded her afternoon tea.  
The starry freezing night brought a gift that many had hoped for, but feared that cloud would obscure. All over Europe, a comet was burning. As the concert party reached home, they gathered on the terrace of Joy’s house to witness this wondrous moment. “I hope it’s a portent of good,” murmured Mary-Dorothy. “I remember Halley’s Comet – I was twenty then, and my brothers and parents were alive. Biddy was only five.”   
“I remember it too,” said Jen quietly. “I was only seven, but from our Yorkshire home it was the brightest thing in the sky. We looked for it every night. Did you know, Ambrose would have seen it too? I read in one of Andrew’s scientific books, that it was seen over Europe in 1531.”  
“When does it come again?” said Joy. “In the 1980s, perhaps? I wonder which of us will see it then?”  
“All, I hope,” said Mary soberly. “Although I will be nearly 100!”


	38. A French Play - February 1943

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new Queen is chosen, to Mary and Biddy's delight.

Madelon and Marie had loved their time at the school, St Mary’s, in Switzerland, and had taken to Miss Raven’s school very readily. Their piano teacher was thrilled to find two such adept pupils, and they were frequently called on to perform at assemblies, in turn with other students of piano. The Hamlet Club took advantage of their skills to accompany the concerts that were held every month for soldiers in the Village Hall, or the Wycombe Town Hall, other less skilled pianists sharing their rostered places thankfully, and of course their performance at the crowning of Queen Cicely had made them identities.   
Madelon had enjoyed drama activities at her previous school, and joined the Dramatic Society as soon as she started at Miss Raven’s. When the meeting to decide what play to perform came up, she sat quietly as people debated what they should attempt, rejecting many suggestions as too hard to costume, or beyond the capabilities of the actors.   
Cissy, the Hamlet Club Queen, was also president of the Dramatic Society, although her interests were in production and costuming, rather than acting, and she was becoming exasperated at the indecision.  
“We have to do something,” she said. “We can’t be so feeble as to be unable to find a play.”  
“We just have so little time,” complained Judith, one the remaining seniors in the school. So many had left, or were busy with their examinations. “What with the weekly jam-making, jar collections, concerts, and trying to keep up with school work as well, it’s a bit difficult to learn anything complicated.”  
“What we need is something short and simple,” said Margaret Marchwood, who had joined the Dramatic Society, one of the first ventures she had taken on her own, without her sister. As Head Girl, and in her last months of school, Elizabeth had plenty to do without taking on performances of plays, or readings.  
“We don’t want to look like a lot of babies, though,” said Cissy. “Goodness, in the past the Dram. Soc. has put on whole Shakespeare plays, fully costumed, complete with sets and what not. Who’s that with your hand up? Madelon? Do you have an idea?” she said kindly.  
Madelon stood up shyly in her place. “Have you ever done plays in another language?” she said. “They could be short and simple, as Margaret says, but if they were in another language, it would still be a challenge for everyone, and unusual for the audience.”  
There was a buzz of comment from the group of thirty or so girls.   
“Do you have any suggestions?” said Cissy, interested in this idea. “Come up the front, please Madelon, so that we can all see you.”  
Madelon went to the front of classroom where the meeting was being held, and faced the group. This was harder for her than sitting at the piano, and she looked at Cissy rather than the curious faces before her.   
“I have a little book of plays, French plays, written by an American woman, for schools there to perform.* It was sent to Mother by a friend who lives in New York. She used to be a Hamlet Queen. Queen Strawberry I think.”  
“Aunt Marguerite!” exclaimed Margaret. “Miss Verity is her niece.”  
“Some of them are fairy stories – “Blanche Neige et Rouge Rose” – you know, “Snow White and Rose Red”, there is a play about Joan of Arc, and one called “La Galette du Rois” – the King’s Cake. It’s a traditional story for New Year. They all have plenty of parts for children. Some of them are set in Breton, and wear costumes a little bit like your dancing dresses, with white caps.”  
“Mother has a collection of white puritan caps, that the Club used to wear when dancing, to show who were women and who were men,” said Cissy, with interest. “I’m sure we could borrow them.”  
“How long are the plays?” said Judith sceptically. “Would they take too long to learn, or perform?”  
“I think each one is less than five, or at most ten minutes,” said Madelon cautiously. “And they are in French, of course, but very easy French,” she added. “It’s quite easy to understand what is going on. There are songs too, and the music is in the book. And there are some pictures, showing what the costumes should look like.”**   
“Can you bring the book in please for us to see?” asked Cissy. “It’s worth a look – we have nothing else to go on. Imagine how pleased Miss Verity would be if we did plays in French!”  
“My accent’s terrible,” moaned Margaret. “That’s what comes of living in New York for a few years.”  
“I can help with accents and meanings,” said Madelon, unsure if this would be too forward a suggestion to these seniors. “And Marie can coach the younger children.”  
Biddy had packed a set of books for the children to bring with them, and had put in the plays at the last minute, thinking that Jen’s children might enjoy performing them with Madelon and Marie.   
Madelon handed the book to Cissy next day. She quickly flicked through the pages, pausing at the illustration of “La Petite Filles de la Bretagne” and exclaimed delightedly. “These look just like older pictures that Mother has of the Hamlet Club dancers. I’m sure we can manage these costumes. Thank you Madelon, this is quite exciting. I wonder….” Cissy suppressed the desire to speak further on the subject, but with a growing idea, rushed away to speak to Judith, Margaret, and the other seniors about the upcoming day in May, when a new Queen would be crowned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The book “French Plays for Children” was published in Chicago in 1916. https://www.forgottenbooks.com/en/readbook/FrenchPlaysforChildren_10398054#0  
> **I acknowledge a slight similarity in plot line here to “Spring Term”, written by Sally Hayward, the very compatible and enjoyable sequel to Antonia Forest’s Marlow family series.


	39. A Queen is Chosen - March 1943

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new Hamlet Queen has been chosen, but no-one is to know who!

“Has the club decided on a new Queen yet,” asked Joy of the twins, early in March. “It’s usually decided by now, isn’t it?  
“Yes, they have,” said Margaret. “I think they plan to tell her at Easter.”  
“Surely that’s a little late?” said Joy. “Easter Day is the 25th April – that gives her hardly any time to have a robe made.”  
“Oh gosh,” said Margaret, with an appearance at concern that was quite unconvincing. “Perhaps they forgot about that. Everyone is so busy preparing Madelon’s plays. But I wouldn’t worry, if I were you, Mother,” she finished placidly.   
“Madelon’s plays?” said Joy. “I knew you were doing French plays, but I didn’t realise Madelon had anything to do with them.”  
“Oh yes,” said Margaret. “She brought in a book that Aunt Marguerite had sent them, and they are all short plays in French, with sweet Breton costumes. We can manage those with our dancing dresses, and Aunt Cicely is lending us all the puritan caps she has from the old days of the Club. There are heaps of little parts, and everyone is in about three of them. There are songs too. You will see the plays at the Coronation. I think that’s why there is no rush about telling the new Queen, or any worry about her robe,” she added mysteriously.  
“Are you keeping secrets from your mother?” demanded Joy, highly amused.   
“I would never do that, would I, Mother?” said Margaret, wide-eyed, and both laughed. They could recall many times when the twins had had secrets, some of which had ended in near tragedy. This secret was a very pleasant one.  
Cissy was addressing the last meeting of the club before the coronation. “Mother told me about Aunty Miriam’s crowning,” said Cissy. “Nobody knew who the Queen would be except the Club. Not even the Head knew, or Miriam’s mother. Our crowning leads on naturally from the plays, and so we can keep it a secret from all except the club. What do you think?”  
There was a chorus of agreement. “Should we vote on it, your Majesty?” said Margaret.   
All hands were raised in agreement; this was an exciting change from the previous coronations that anyone could remember.   
“But who is the next Queen?” said Madelon in bewilderment. “If the Club has to know, why isn’t she chosen yet?”  
“We have chosen, Madelon,” said Cissy with a smile. “The new Queen, is you.” Everyone cheered and clapped at the announcement; the club had chosen shortly after the plays began rehearsal, thrilled with the choice and the possibility to dance within the action of the plays. Madelon’s contribution was just the kind of unusual thing that the Club looked for in its Queens, and of course they had already been vastly impressed by her performances on the piano.   
“You can’t want me!” said Madelon in amazement. “I have only been here for just over a year.”  
“Ah yes, but you make us do interesting things, like the plays,” said Margaret, “and you must have performed in about twenty concerts for soldiers, on behalf of the school. Those things make you different from everyone else, and, what’s more, you have a few years left of school. We don’t always like to choose a senior who will leave at the end of the year.”  
“I don’t know what to say,” said Madelon, “except thank you, and I will try to be a good Queen.”  
Marie hugged her big sister, and smiled. “It was a hard secret for me to keep, Madelon.”  
“May we tell Mother?” said Marie to Cissy. “She is in London, and has to come to the coronation, but if she doesn’t know how important it is, she may not come.” The girls were used to their mother sometimes being too busy for them.   
“I think she will come because we are in the plays, Marie,” said Madelon. “I can ask Aunt Mary if she can convince her to come.”  
This mission was successfully carried out, and Mary assured them that their mother would be present. She expressed concern about the making of the robe, but was told this was under control. Madelon managed to avoid giving any hint of who the Queen would be. Mary shrugged her shoulders, and turned her energies elsewhere.   
There was great excitement leading up to the crowning, for no-one outside the school members of the Club had any idea who would be Queen, or what flower she would choose. That Hamlet Club!


	40. Mary's Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The French plays are performed, and a French Queen is crowned.

When the Queens processed into the Hall and sat down on the chairs provided for them on and below the stage, it was with an air of general mystery that they all looked forward to seeing the new Queen. Cicely crowned Cissy with her thick crown of forget-me-nots, and Cissy turned to make the usual speech by the outgoing Queen.   
“Thank you everyone, and I have had a wonderful year as Queen. This year, we are going to call on the members of the Dramatic Society, many of whom are also Hamlet Club members, to perform some short plays for you. The plays were suggested by someone who is in both clubs. They are to be performed not in English, but in French!” said Cissy, with a dramatic flourish and sense of timing that surprised her mother.   
There was a general buzz of excited conversation at this, and a scattering of applause. Even the Queens exchanged amused glances, and some groans, at the thought of trying to follow plays performed in French.   
Cissy reassured them with her next words. “You will know most of the stories, so we are confident you will be able to follow the action of the plays. In between each play, there will be a dance by the school members of the Hamlet Club, with the exception, of course, of those who are Queens seated here before you. And at the end of the plays, in a break with tradition, you will meet our new Queen. We hope you enjoy this combined performance of the Dramatic Society and the Hamlet Club.”   
This time, there was genuine and enthusiastic applause, and attention was turned to the incoming group of girls, dressed as mother and daughters, about to set a table, for the first play “Le Galette des Rois”, or “The King’s Cake.”   
“The little devils,” said Jen to Joan. “Fancy subjecting us to this kind of suspense. At least when Miriam was crowned, no-one knew there was to be a May Queen at all! I tried to get Rosemary to tell me, but she wouldn’t budge.”  
Madelon and Marie had coached everyone well, and there was a very authentic ring to everyone’s accent and pronunciation. The audience followed to varying degrees of comprehension, and lots of subdued chatter was exchanged as explanations were given. But the action itself was clearly and amusingly mimed, and the facial expressions, and interactions of the players, made the task of understanding much easier. Everyone laughed at the cutting of the cake, made carefully by Madelon herself, and the finding of the lucky bean. As the play ended, Madelon ran to the piano, and accompanied the dancers in the first dance, as the scene was changed and costumes hurriedly modified for the next play.   
“This is marvellous,” laughed Cicely, the President. “It reminds me so much of your crowning, Miriam, which was part of the May Day celebrations. The choice of Queen will be as much a surprise to us all, as you were to everyone in the school, I think.”  
The last play performed was “Blanche-Neige et Rose-Rouge”, Snow-White and Rose-Red. Madelon played Rose-Rouge, and as the play ended, she and two other characters were circled by the others, and then gradually by all the girls in the two clubs, until they could not be seen from the outside of the circle. The play of Jeanne de Arc had ended with the cry of “Vive La Pucelle”, “Long Live the Maid”. Gradually came the cry “Vive La Reine”, “Long Live the Queen’, and suddenly the circle of girls drew back, to reveal Madelon, the red costume she had been wearing no longer in evidence.   
Now, she wore a long white gown, and on her shoulders was a train of blue mauve, with a yellow lining. Down the borders of the mauve robe were white outlines of large columbine flowers, worked in simple running stitches, with five petalled smaller white flower shapes appliqued within these, then yellow centres to the flowers and blue streaks from the centres. Her head was bare, and in her arms there was a great sheaf of columbines. Marie slipped in behind her sister, to pick up and carry the train, as Madelon started to walk towards the stage to meet Cissy.   
“How did they ever make that robe themselves?” murmured Joan to Joy. “It’s beautiful and so original.”  
Mary and Biddy, sitting together, were both overcome, and tears were running down their cheeks.   
“My big girl, a May Queen,” said Biddy. “I never dreamed that this would happen. It never seemed like we could be part of these celebrations in the way the others were – and now we are.”  
“Little Madelon Marie,” said Mary with emotion. “Biddy, I am so proud of her. She is an inspiring young woman. Look what she and Marie have helped to create here today!”  
On the stage, Maidlin was sharing their joy and emotion, for it was she who had convinced Biddy to bring Madelon back to England, when she was a tiny baby, and she and her mother had been abandoned by Biddy’s first husband. Madelon received a loving smile from Maidlin as she approached the stage, and smiled back in return. Then she bent before Cissy, who placed a crown of narcissus on her head, before turning and looking to her mother and Mary. She blew a kiss in their direction with her free hand before briefly thanking everyone for the honour of being Queen.   
Miss Raven then stood. “Thank you, girls of the Dramatic Society and the Hamlet Club for such an unusual and delightful performance and crowning. You have helped us all brush up our French” – there was laughter at this – “and I believe it is our new Queen whom we have to thank for the choice of plays, and the excellence of the girls’ accents!” Everyone applauded warmly.   
“Since the club are already worn out from dancing, please join us for afternoon tea, before heading in safety to your homes. Girls, congratulations, and thank you again.”  
“How did the club know you liked the columbine, Madelon?” asked Maidlin, as she congratulated her namesake on her crowning.   
“I believe I have my sister to thank for that,” smiled Madelon. “We had them growing in France, and I have always loved them more than any other flower. There was no difficulty in the choice.”  
“Who made your beautiful robe? It is so cleverly done,” said Mary, coming to their side and giving her niece a warm embrace.   
“We went to see Miss Lane, and she advised us,” said Cissy. “She helped us with the fabrics and showed us the stitches that would work best for the outlines. And she let us use her sewing machine for the long seams! We owe a great deal to Miss Lane.”  
“We all do,” exclaimed Maidlin. “I must see her before I go. Come with me, Madelon, so you can thank her too.” The Primrose and Columbine Queens together walked to see Margia, who was sitting to the side. Without Margia, the Club might never have existed.   
“Mary’s Queen,” said Jen exultantly, coming to congratulate her friend. “I’m so glad for you Mary, that you have an Abbey Queen of your very own, and I have the first Queen from the Manor!”


	41. The Start of Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War time accidents did happen in the county of Buckinghamshire. The account below is of a crash landing in the village of Winslow. This chapter is dedicated to those who lost their lives in that accident, and all the many other civilians and aircraftmen whose lives were lost.
> 
> A friend is gone. In war time, it was not possible to protect all the Abbey families from grief. My choice was literally random. I allocated numbers to every character – 91 of them, from the Abbey series, and drew the number of the unlucky character using a random number function from the internet. I was haunted for weeks by the character who was drawn, thinking I couldn’t write it. But the best loved are often taken. It could just as easily have been another, and, although the story would have been very different, the sorrow would have been as profound.

“I have been asked to start a folk-dance class for some school children about an hour’s drive north of here,” said Joan Fraser, to her husband Len. “It’s an afternoon class, but they would like a demonstration session for the following morning. I can stay overnight at the inn, or in a billet.”  
“When do they want you to go?” asked Len.   
“I suggested that we do the class on Friday afternoon,” Joan replied. “If I leave here at ten, I should be back by lunch time on Saturday. Mother and Dad and the girls can come to stay here, with you and John, for a little holiday. What do you say, Johnny boy?”  
“Will Grandfather come too?” said John. There was a very strong bond between Alec and his first grandson.   
“I’m sure he will,” said Joan. “Fly to the Music School with me and you can ask him!”  
With that Joan swung the sturdy four-year-old up into the air and he shrieked with laughter. Strong, tall and surrounded by love, John had thrived in the Herb Garden, with his parents, and his grandparents, and little aunts, who were not much older than he, close by. Len, slowly working at his recovery from debilitating injuries, was now able to walk around the garden with him, and even into the Abbey grounds. John was fascinated by the crypt in the Abbey, and stories of Ambrose. Already a keen little dancer, with his friends Richard and David from the Hall, and Chris and Barney, and Simon from the Manor, he was part of a junior morris side being capably taught by Jen Marchwood, much to her delight.   
Len had proudly donned the uniform of the Royal Signals Unit, and was an instructor in the nearby regiment. His Guides and Brownies had proved invaluable to the neighbourhood, transmitting messages when needed by Morse and semaphore, in creative and undetectable ways. But, as Alec had predicted, a wider canvas was sought by Len, and his services were gratefully accepted, with allowances made for his lack of mobility. The Guides had also contributed to the safety of the motorists in the area, by painting white the low vertical kerbsides of roadways to reflect the lowered and muted headlights of vehicles. There had been many accidents prior to this clever idea being implemented.  
A week later, Len and John waved good bye to Joan, as she drove off in their small car. Janice and Alec had walked down from the Music School, with Cecily and Janet, now seven and six years old, to spend the day and night with them. Alec, John and his little aunts, worked in the garden for a while, before they came in for lunch and John’s afternoon rest. He was too big now to sleep, but enjoyed a story and quiet puzzle, while the adults read and little girls rested or looked at fascinating picture books. In the mild evening, they all met Joy and Ivor and Mary, and the crowd of younger children played in the Hall gardens, under the supervision of Elizabeth and Margaret.   
Once, late at night, planes droned overhead, but this was now a commonplace occurrence and did not bring any undue anxiety.   
Next morning, around midday, Len began to look for Joan’s arrival. Janice had prepared lunch for them, and it was keeping warm in the oven.   
“I thought she would be back by now,” said Len. “I hope the car didn’t break down, or that she ran out of petrol.”  
“I am sure she is alright, Len,” said Janice reassuringly.   
“Did you hear the planes go overhead last night?” said Alec to Len. “I thought one of them sounded a bit low.”  
“No,” said Len. “They don’t disturb me any more. It would take an air raid siren to wake me up.”  
An unfamiliar car pulled up at the laneway that passed the Herb Garden. A policeman got out. Only Janice saw it.  
“Alec,” said Janice, as quietly as she could. “Please come.” Startled, Alec dropped what he was doing and came to her side. She gestured towards the window. “Come with me. I’m worried about Littlejan,” she said.   
Together, they walked down the path to meet the policeman.   
He spoke to them for a few minutes. At last, a cry broke out from Janice, and Alec put his arm around her shoulders, almost holding her up. The group stood for a moment, before all three turned towards the house and walked slowly back along the path.   
“I’ll come with you,” said Alec, as the policeman asked for Len. “Janice, I must go to him. Will you be alright?”  
Janice nodded mutely, then stooped to pick up little John, who had run out to find them, hiding her face against his curls. Calling Cecily and Janet to her, she carried him back down the path, with the little girls dancing along behind, and through the Gatehouse garden, into the Abbey, passing a concerned Benedicta without a word. On the steps of the garth, Janice sat for what seemed like ages, numb and cold, watching John and her little girls run around after butterflies, until Alec, his face grey and suddenly old, came to fetch her.   
“Benedicta will go to the Hall and the Manor,” he said. “Come, Jan dear, you can’t stay here. Come and see Len. The policeman is still with him but he needs us badly. I can only leave him for a moment.”  
“I can’t bear to tell anyone. It makes it too real,” said Janice. “So many people to tell, so much suffering. Alec, how will we ever bear it?”  
Light rain started to fall. It was as if the heavens were weeping too. For Joan, their Littlejan, mother of John and wife of Len, daughter of Jandy and Alec, sister to four, cousin of Rosamund, Queen Marigold, and beloved friend to so many, was no more.   
Benedicta walked in on lunch at the Hall.   
“Benedicta, dear, what is it?” said Joy, in a voice of concern, for she could see immediately that Benedicta was deeply upset. “Sit down,” she said, as Ivor poured a glass of water for her.   
Benedicta looked around at all the faces at the table: Joy, Ivor, Margaret and Elizabeth, Mary-Dorothy, and the boys, ten-year-old David and nine-year-old Richard, while seven-year-old Maidie-Rose sat by her mother. Janice, now Janice Everett, and living at Broadway End while Richard was in the air force, had come to visit for lunch, and to show any visitors through the Abbey.  
“I have such sad, sad news,” Benedicta said. Her anticipation of their pain, now so familiar to her, made it hard to speak. “There was a plane crash at a village north of here last night. The pilot couldn’t get altitude and hit a tree, then crashed into the village. Most of the crew and many villagers died. It was the village where Littlejan was teaching yesterday. She was staying at the inn, and it was hit first. I’m afraid she didn’t survive.”  
“Littlejan? It can’t be,” said Elizabeth, starting to her feet, her eyes wide with horror. “But … Uncle Len and John…”   
“They were not with her,” said Benedicta hastily. “They are here at the Herb Garden, with Janice and Alec.”  
“Not our Littlejan,” moaned Joy. “Oh, my poor Jandy-Mac. It’s so unfair.”  
“Was it an enemy plane?” asked Margaret, tears running down her cheeks. Elizabeth and Janice were crying in each other’s arms, quite overcome with grief. “Are they quite sure? What if it is a mistake? Maybe she wasn’t really there!”  
“It’s not a mistake, Margaret. They are quite sure. And, no, it was not an enemy plane,” said Benedicta flatly. “The plane was from the air base at Little Horwood. It was just a terrible accident.”  
“That makes it even worse,” said Joy, almost angry now with the injustice of it. “Our own people… this blasted war.” She turned to Ivor for a moment, hiding her face against his chest, her breath shuddering, while his arms tightened around her.  
“I’ll go to Jen,” said Mary-Dorothy, her face white, realizing the reverberations this dreadful news would have through their loving extended family. “Benedicta, thank you for coming to tell us.”  
“Oh, would you, Mary?” said Benedicta gratefully. “It was hard enough once.” Mary slipped away to get a coat, with a quiet word to the staff, who were all looking deeply distressed. Young Mrs Fraser was a general favourite everywhere.  
“And there is Joan to tell,” said Joy. “And Rosamund! And Lindy, and Robin in Wales. Oh, it’s unbearable.” She now had an arm around each of the two boys, while Ivor hugged Maidie-Rose closely. They were quite old enough to understand, and all were quiet and fearful at the loss of their kind and happy friend, and at the distress of their older sisters and parents. “And what about Alastair and Alan? Where are they?”  
“They are staying with John, with Mother and Dad at Rayley, for a few days before school starts again,” said Janice, raising her head.   
“Would you like me to go now to see Joan and the boys?” said Ivor, to both Joy and Janice. “It would be too hard to tell her over the phone. I can take the motorbike and be there in an hour.”  
“Can I come with you, Uncle Ivor?” pleaded Janice. “I must see Mother as soon as possible.”  
“Ivor, we must go down to Len and Jandy-Mac first. Perhaps you can bring the boys home, if you take the car, with Janice. Oh, so much to think of, and so huge a sorrow.” Joy was taken out of her own grief in anxiety for the family of the girl they all loved so much.   
“My darling girls, can you be strong and look after the boys and Maidie-Rose while Daddy and I go to see Jandy-Mac and Alec…and Len? Nelly will help, and Mary will be back soon,” said Joy.   
Margaret spoke up for Elizabeth, who was too distraught to speak. “Yes, Mother, of course, you go. Please give our love to Uncle Len and Aunty Janice, and Uncle Alec too.”  
Janice pulled away from Elizabeth’s grasp. “I must come too,” she gasped to Joy, “If that’s alright? I can’t bear to leave it a minute longer. It will only get worse. I am sure Mother would want me to go at once. I’ll be back in a minute.” She ran to wash her face and tidy herself for the ordeal.  
“Mother, I’ll call Aunty Cicely, and Aunty Maidlin,” said Elizabeth, rousing herself, and rubbing her hands across her eyes. “Aunt Cicely will tell the other Queens. Aunty Maidlin will want to contact Lindy, and Rachel and Damaris. I could put a call through to Robin in Wales as well. Should Cecily and Jantyjoy come back here for a while, Mother? We can look after them too.”  
“That’s my wonderful Elizabeth,” said Joy, deeply grateful for her daughter’s recovering composure and good sense. “Jandy may want the little girls by her side, but I will ask her. And I think Jandy will want to talk to Rosamund herself, when she can, since they are cousins. But if you could call Cicely and Maidlin – that will be a huge help. Thank you, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.greathorwoodhistory.org/great-horwood-during-world-war-ii.html#:~:text=In%20the%20early%20hours%20of,pilot%2C%20and%2013%20Winslow%20residents  
> “In the early hours of Saturday 7th August, 1943, a Wellington bomber based at RAF Little Horwood crashed on Winslow while returning from a training exercise, killing four of the five crew including the pilot, and 13 Winslow residents. The 22-year-old pilot, Sergeant Wilfred Davies had decided to return to base because of a malfunction with the bomb sight, but when he made his approach, he found his landing blocked by another aircraft which had belly-flopped on the runway. He tried to complete another circuit of the airfield but failed to gain enough height. The plane hit the top of a walnut tree and crashed through the top storey of a butcher’s shop into the Chandos Arms, killing the landlord, and finishing up in Rose Cottages. Among the dead was a three-month-old baby who was buried in her mother’s arms, and a couple with their daughter and grand-daughter who had left London to escape the Blitz.”


	42. Mourning - August 1943

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is so much to do, and all so hard to do.

The group of three, tall Ivor, with Joy and Janice, as alike as mother and daughter, walked sombrely down the path on perhaps the saddest journey ever made through the Abbey gardens. The policeman was waiting outside, and Ivor stopped to speak to him. The Herb Garden house looked cold and desolate, and when the door was opened on the sorrow within, they entered a scene of profound grief and mourning.  
Janice sat on a lounge below the window, her little girls either side of her, their sandy blonde heads buried in her side. Janice’s eyes were closed, and the anguish in them when she opened them to look at Joy was absolute. Somewhere deep within the house, they could hear a harsh sobbing.  
Janice’s namesake was the first to run to her and kneel before her. “Oh, Aunt Janice, I am so sorry. All of us, everyone, we are all so sad for you. Uncle Ivor and I are going to fetch the boys.”  
“Thank you Jansy,” said Janice weakly. “Joy, how can we bear it? Listen to Len: he is beyond help. He keeps saying it should have been him. And there is so much to do. So many people who need to know.”  
Ivor came in at that moment, and, appalled, turned away to the window. How could he intrude on another man’s grief?  
Joy too knelt before Janice, and put her hands on her knees. “Jandy, dearest, Mary has gone to tell Jen. I expect she will come over shortly. Elizabeth is speaking to Cicely and Maidlin. Ivor will take Jansy to see Joan, and bring your boys. You don’t have to do anything. But I did think you would want to speak to Rosamund yourself.”  
“Yes, yes, I will,” said Janice. “She was Joan’s first friend here, with young Tansy, and is part of our family now. Joy, I am worried about the children. This is not good for them. No-one has eaten either.”  
“Where is little John?” said Joy. “This family needs help,” she thought.  
“He curled up and went to sleep when Len first cried out,” said Janice pitifully. “He was like a little animal seeking shelter.”  
“Janice, Ivor and I will take Cecily and Jantyjoy and John back to the Hall now,” said Joy decisively. “Elizabeth, Margaret and Mary will look after them. Girls, would you like to come with Aunty Joy and see Maidie-Rose and Richard and David?” The little tear-stained faces raised to hers clutched at Joy’s heart, and she was relieved when each of them managed a weak smile.  
“Can we go and see Maidie-Rose, please Mummy?” said Cecily doubtfully.  
At a nod from their mother, the two little girls took Joy’s hands and went with her to the door. “Ivor, Janice will take you to find John. Can you carry him home to our house, please?”  
Ivor took the sleeping child in his arms, and bent his head for a moment over the motherless child’s. Then the little procession to the Hall started off, leaving the elder Janice, and younger Janice, alone together.  
“Joy,” said Ivor, when they were outside, and the little girls had started to walk towards the gate. “The policeman needs someone to go with him. They need to formally identify her.”  
“Ivor, no, how dreadful for any one of us,” said Joy. “Who could do that?”  
“I’ll talk to Ken,” said Ivor. He spoke to the policeman, who nodded, and left, after giving some brief instructions.  
As they left, Janice collapsed again on the lounge and burst into tears. Jansy ran to hold her.  
“Oh Jansy,” wept Janice, “it wasn’t just Joan we lost.”  
“What do you mean, Aunty?” said Jansy desperately.  
“Joan and Len were looking forward to another baby,” said Janice brokenly. “Len said they were going to tell us tonight. They were so happy.”  
Jansy sat holding her, horrified at this news. The double blow to Len; no wonder his grief was so uncontrolled and violent. A young married woman herself, with the dreams of family shaping, she could easily imagine how Joan and Len would have been so excited at the thought of a brother or sister for John, after so much pain and trouble with Len’s injury four years ago.  
“Do you think Len will want anyone else to know?” she said slowly. This was so private a grief.  
“No,” said Janice, “but I want you to understand why…” she gestured towards the incoherent sounds of grief in the distant part of the house.  
“I don’t suppose I can see Uncle Len or Uncle Alec?” said Jansy doubtfully.  
“Not now, darling. Perhaps later. They will like that soon, but not now,” said Janice.  
“Why do things like this happen, Aunty Janice?” said Jansy. “Two – no, three tragedies for your family, Len and Joan and their baby. Len nearly dying, and now Joan - nearly four, if you count Alan’s appendicitis a few years ago. It isn’t fair. Why you?”  
“Oh Jansy, we can’t say “why us”,” said Janice sadly. “Rather say, “why not us”? The policeman told us that nearly twenty people died last night in the village, including the crew of the plane. Why should our family be spared heartbreak and pain, and days of sorrow, when so many others are experiencing it everywhere in England and the world? I still think of all those people in Hamburg too, people like us.”  
Jansy looked at Janice with deepening respect. “May I tell other people what you said? Elizabeth and Margaret, Mother, Aunty Joy? I think you are the bravest person I know, Aunty.”  
“I do too,” said another voice. In the doorway stood tall Jen Marchwood, who had overheard Jandy’s last words. Unlike Janice, Jen knew Jandy’s full history: an only child, orphaned at a very young age in a faraway country, brought up by aunts, and losing her best friend, Joy’s Uncle Tony, in her early teens,. Jen had always wondered if Uncle Tony had been waiting for Janice to grow up, seeing her mother in the daughter. Meeting Alec, and the raising of Jandy-Mac’s family, had been the joys of her life.  
Jen took Jansy’s place by Janice’s side, and held her weeping friend close. “Ken is coming,” she said, “and can help in any way you need. We are all here for you Jandy, you and Alec and Len are not alone.”  
Ivor, Joy and Ken walked together up the pathway, the children now safely in the twins’ and Mary-Dorothy’s care, and the two men conferring. They waited outside while Joy quietly came alone into the house.  
“Jandy, Ivor and I will take Janice to Rayley, now, to see our Joan and get your boys,” said Joy. “Jen will organise some food for you all; you must eat, dear. Jansy, are you ready to go? The car is ready. I’m coming too; I want to be there with you to tell Joan about Littlejan. Jen, may I have a quick word?”  
The two friends withdrew into the garden, where their husbands waited. “Ken has said he will go to identify her,” said Joy. “Someone has to.”  
“Oh, Ken, are you sure?” said Jen, to her husband.  
“It’s all I can do to help at the moment,” said Ken. “It’s alright Jen. I can do it.”  
“Shall I come?” said Jen. The very thought horrified her.  
“Better stay here for Janice, I think,” said Ken, and Joy nodded in agreement. “And the children will need you too, especially when Joy and Ivor get back with Alan and Alastair.”  
The house grew quiet. No sound now came to Jen and Janice from other parts of the house, and after a while, Alec came to them, looking exhausted. “Len is sleeping,” he said. “He’ll be alright.”  
“Thank you for staying with him, Alec,” said Janice. “I couldn’t; it was too hard for me.”  
‘I just sat by him,” said Alec quietly. “He knew I was there, but there was nothing I could say. I feel just as bad as he does.” For a moment, he sat, his eyes closed and head in hands. “Where are the children?” he said, recovering his composure.  
“Joy and Ivor took them to the Hall,” said Jen. “They’ll be well looked after by Mary and the twins. Jansy, Joy and Ivor have gone to fetch Alastair and Alan. We thought you would want them here.”  
“Oh, how will we ever tell them?” said Janice. “They loved her so.”  
“Joy and Ivor will tell them for you, and Joan and Jack,” said Jen. “You know we are all heartbroken for you. It’s a small service, but one they wanted to do for you. Ken has also gone to identify her,” she said, suddenly unsure that Jandy and Alec would be pleased at this.  
“Oh, that is so kind of Ken. I don’t think either of us could have done it,” said Janice. “And Len certainly couldn’t have at the moment.”  
Relieved, Jen gestured to Alec, who looked a little troubled at his friend having had to carry out this sad service. He would never forget this kindness. “Come, Alec, have some food. Really, it’s alright.”  
The tall friends, Jen and Alec, embraced, then Alec sat down and picked at the food Jen had brought for him.  
“I’d like to call Rosamund now,” said Janice. “Will you sit with me please, Jen, while I do it?”  
The women went to another part of the house, to make the sad call. There had always been a close bond between the friends, Rosamund and Janice, before they found out that they were actually related. Now, knowing themselves to be cousins, they felt more like the sisters neither had ever had. Rosamund and her children were away in Scotland, so it would be many months before they could be together again, but the conversation at least gave them a chance to speak of their love and sorrow.  
“Jandy, I will call Rosalind,” said Rosamund, after the first tears and exclamations of distress, and as the conversation drew to a close. “It’s too much for you to have to tell her friends. Rosalind and Joan were such great friends. I expect Joy and Mary have taken care of everything else?”  
“Yes,” said Jandy, “we are being very well looked after. Jen is here with me and Joy has gone with Ivor and Janice to get the boys. Elizabeth and Margaret are caring for the little girls, with Mary. I am so grateful to everyone.”  
“And Len?” said Rosamund hesitantly.  
“As you would expect, he is grief-stricken, like the rest of us,” said Janice quietly. “We will do what we can for him, but it’s going to be very hard.”  
“He has John to live and work for. Keep reminding him of that. Rosalin and Patricia and Geoffrey are here and send their love and sympathy. Rosalin has just suggested you get her husband, Dr. Roger Black, to come to see him,” said Rosamund. “You know that Roger met him when he was first brought back from Antarctica. He may be able to help.”  
“That’s a good suggestion, Rosamund, I will,” said Janice.


	43. Remembering

Night fell on the Abbey, the Hall, the Manor and the Herb Garden. To homes across the land, to Wales, to Scotland, to castle and croft, the news spread. Even ships at sea began to hear the sad tidings, for Len Fraser was well-known as rescuer of Dr Hamilton of the Antarctic, and his laughing young wife had dazzled the men on his ship. On the islands of Samoa, the telegraph hummed, and there was weeping and prayers and songs for the little girl who had grown up there. In distant Sydney and nearby Wycombe, her former school friends mourned her death and her family’s loss. There were so many people who knew and loved Joan Fraser.  
Ken Marchwood returned from the hospital, quiet and distant, and Jen went home with him, deeply concerned. Their own large family of children was needing them too. The other friends sat after a simple dinner, to talk over the dreadful day and remember their young friend. Cicely had driven over to be with them.  
“There was always something very exceptional about Littlejan,” said Joan Raymond quietly. Joan had come to the Hall with Joy and Ivor, to be company in the car for the two boys, whom she knew very well. Janice had stayed with her brothers John and Jim, and younger sister Jennifer. Jack had followed in his car with little Jill, to take Joan home later. Jill, exactly Cecily’s age, was old enough to understand that Cecily’s big sister had died, and had begged to stay with her mother and father.  
“She had a generous heart, beyond her years, a social conscience, and an instinctive knowledge of how to be kind to people. Littlejan insisted on keeping poor Jansy company when she had chicken pox. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I found Littlejan in Jansy’s room, declaring she was going to stay there,” Joan smiled sadly.  
“Joan must have left home at a very young age, to go to school in Sydney,” said Joy. “It made her very self-reliant. I remember the first time I met her, when we arrived back from New York. It was like seeing Jandy Mac all over again, but with a self-assurance and interest in others that was remarkable for her age. I think she was only fourteen then.”  
“I was so impressed with her from the first day I met her too,” said Cicely, “when she came to ask for advice about the Hamlet Club. She did it on her own, terrified I would be offended. So much character in a little girl.”  
“I made a book of photographs of her, for Janice, when she had to go back to Samoa,” said Jack Raymond, from the corner where he was sitting quietly. Jill, his youngest child, the same age as Cecily Fraser, was cuddled on his knee. Cecily and Jantyjoy were already asleep, under the care of Nelly Bell. “I loved that child, she was one of the nicest people I’ve ever met,” said Jack. “A real credit to Janice and Alec.”  
“Littlejan was a great friend to Rosalind and Belinda, and Jansy,” said Mary. “I was quite thrilled that she still saw some value in the things an older woman like me had to say to her, as well. She never treated me as anything other than a valued friend. It never seemed to matter to her if someone was old or young, male or female, or what country they came from. I think the word is cosmopolitan. Littlejan was a citizen of the world. I keep thinking of the words that Cicely sang at her coronation: “that lays upon the altar the dearest and the best”.”  
Elizabeth and Margaret listened quietly to their older friends talking, both deeply disturbed by what had happened. It made no sense to them, and occasionally Mary looked their way with some foreboding. How would the twins cope with this tragedy in their lives?  
Sadly, at the end of a day they would all rather forget, and facing a future they could hardly bear to think of, the adult friends parted. There was not one among them who would not gladly have exchanged their life, for Joan’s. And alone in the Abbey, Benedicta wept for not one friend, but two. For the last and worst news had come to Benedicta about her friend Tom.  
At the Manor, Jen sat quietly with Ken, after the children had gone to bed. Andrew and Tony, shortly due to go back to school, had gone out to see their friends Alastair and Alan, and the four of them had played a subdued game of cricket in the Manor’s extensive garden in the twilight. All four of them were confused and sad, conscious of the impact the war was having, and thinking of the consequences for their families of their own impending enlistments. Alec and Ken had played with them, talking quietly when they seemed to want it. As the evening had drawn in, Janice took her boys home to the Music School, leaving Alec with Len, and Roger Black, who had come to see him as soon as Jandy called. The little girls and John stayed at the Hall, where they had settled and slept.  
“Do you want to talk about it, Ken?” asked Jen, once the house was quiet.  
“When I came back from Africa after Andrew died, little Andrew had just been born,” said Ken slowly. “I never really grieved my brother. There was Joy, and the twins, and Mother to think of, and of course, getting married to you!”*  
Jen listened quietly. She knew Ken much better since his serious illness of a few years’ previous, and was keen to know where his thoughts were presently. She waited for him to continue.  
“It was Andrew I first thought of today,” he said. “Away from us all, and dying. Just like Littlejan.”  
“She was still covered in dust, and white from the disintegrated plaster. Her little face was quite alright, no damage at all, just as if sleeping. They let me clean her face and hair with a wet cloth, and then I combed her hair. They had looked after her; the rest of her was covered with a clean sheet and laid out nicely.”  
“Oh, Ken,” sobbed Jen. “I wish I had been with you.”  
“No Jen, you are doing so much with the children, and Janice. It’s better this way; no extra burden on you or any of them. I think I am strong enough to cope with this, and having seen her. She was a good little kid, and fine young woman. Dealing with Andrew’s death was hard in Africa, and I was on my own too, except for the British consul staff. How old was I? Twenty-four? There was that wretched young Lord Saville too. I’ve never talked about that, have I?”  
“No,” said Jen, “you never have.” They sat silently for a while, hands entwined.  
“I still can’t,” Ken said. “I don’t want anyone else to have that memory. Do you mind?”  
“Of course not! It’s far better that Joy and your mother, and I, were able to remember him as they had known him. Let’s go up to bed,” Jen suggested, sensing his exhaustion.  
“They may want to see her,” said Jen slowly, as she readied herself to sleep, thinking of Janice and Alec and Len. “I wanted to see Mother one last time. I’m glad I did.”  
“It’s up to them,” said Ken. “The hospital asked what the family would want to do about her funeral. I said we would let them know.”  
“I hadn’t thought that far,” said Jen. “Our little village church has seen so many happy occasions – and now, it will see one of its saddest. Then again, it’s been there a long time, and seen many deaths before. It’s us for whom it’s something unfamiliar.”  
Jen drew her husband into her arms, and, finally, they wept together, for a brother long gone, and a friend gone far too young.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * See “Abbey Girls Win Through”; “Abbey Girls at Home”


	44. May Queen Dreams - May 1944

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janice and Rosamund share their grief, and enjoy a walk in the garden with Cecily and Janet Joy.

“Were you ever a May Queen, Mother,” asked Cecily Rose, one spring day in the following year, as Jandy Mac and her little daughters, now aged ten and seven, walked through the flowers and paths of the Herb Garden with their Aunt Rosamund, who was visiting her friends at Abinger Hall, Marchwood Manor, Rayley, the Pallant, and the Herb Garden.   
Another Queen was to be crowned, and Rosamund had returned for a brief visit, now that a tide in the war seemed to be turning. To the sorrow of her many friends, the Countess was wearing black, for her Geoffrey had finally succumbed to the condition that had plagued his life, and had died in Scotland, where he now lay peacefully in a quiet Scottish churchyard. Thirteen-year-old Geoffrey-Hugh was Viscount Verriton no longer, but the new young Earl of Kentisbury.   
Rosamund, Lady Kentisbury, as she was now known, would take no part in the procession of Queens, but for the sake of all her old friends had agreed to make the quick journey down, confident that her children, including the young Earl, were safe and well cared for back at Vairy. The past few months she had spent solely in their company, all her waking hours, making sure that each child received a good measure of her time alone, for each of the children missed their father in their own way.   
Patch and Rosalin, and Isobel, now a firm friend, were concerned at how pale and weary she appeared, and urged her to a short respite, rather than thinking of it as a holiday. Maidlin had been the first to welcome her in London, and carry her back down to the Pallant in her car, for their friendship dated back to each other’s first days living at the Hall with Joy, and was deep and enduring. Strong, yet vulnerable Rosamund drew comfort from gentle Maidlin and her deep understanding.   
Today, Rosamund had come to see her cousin Janice, and Len, for the first time since that dreadful day at the funeral. On that day, the low toned Abbey bell, Michael, had tolled once for every year of Littlejan’s life, and it rang like a hammer on the anvil of their pain. Here, at the Herb Garden, the newness of missing Littlejan in her own home and garden was pressing heavily on her, making her own grief even harder to bear. Little Cicely’s innocent question was a welcome diversion, and the company of little girls was always a joy to her.  
“Hyacinth and Lilac were Queens, and you were, Aunty Rosamund, and Aunty Joy, and Aunty Joan, and Aunty Jen, and Jansy, and Aunty Maidlin, and Littlejan, and Aunty Rosalind,” chanted Cecily, counting on her fingers. “But not you, Mother!”  
“No darling, I was never Queen,” smiled Jandy Mac. “But I was Aunty Joan’s maid for a little while, and walked in the procession, holding her train.”  
Cecily Rose’s eyes were wide. “You should have been Queen too, Mother.”   
“I couldn’t be Queen, darling, I wasn’t at the school long enough,” said Jandy Mac with a little laugh.   
“But if you were Queen,” persisted Cecily, “what flowers would you have?”  
“Flowers…now let me see. What would I have?” wondered Jandy Mac aloud, indulging her sandy haired little daughter’s fancy.   
Rosamund listened in amusement. “What a lovely idea, Cecily, to choose your mother’s flower. You could have an Australian flower, Jandy, although I am not sure Margia would know how to do your robe!”  
“A Waratah Queen perhaps, with big red flowers. But, do you know,” said Janice, “I think I would choose this flower.” Her hand brushed the large flower heads of the yarrow, which was a favourite planting in the Herb Garden’s plots, with its large heads of white, pink and yellow. “It is a healing plant,” she said, “and healing is what the Abbey and the Herb Garden have given, and still give, so many of us.” Both women were quiet for a moment, struggling with the emotions that rose so easily to them both.   
“That’s a lovely thought, Janice, a flower of healing,” said Rosamund. “You would carry bunches of yarrow instead of hawthorn or narcissus. Your train could be white, with yellow and pink flower heads, and the green ferny leaves traced around the hem.”   
“You haven’t seen the new Queen’s robe yet, Ros,” said Janice. “The White Queen has a companion now.”  
“Really?” said Rosamund. “I can’t wait to see it. I always loved Miriam’s white robe with its forget-me-nots around the border. We haven’t had a white Queen since her, the very first Queen. But perhaps the club does need an honorary Queen as well!”  
“No, no, it’s a school choice from the students, it wouldn’t be fair to make a grown up like me Queen. But thank you, Cecily and Rosamund, the idea is lovely. Perhaps I could have a white cardigan like that, or a little cape for concerts, and you and I would know the secret.”  
Tall Rosamund crouched next to Cecily and put an arm around her waist.   
“What about you, Cecily? If you become Queen one day, what flower would you choose?” Janice and Rosamund watched in amusement as the serious little girl turned and wandered through the garden, carefully inspecting each flower.   
“I am not sure yet, Aunty,” she said, coming back to them. “I think I will wait until I am grown up to find out. After all, I may not be Queen, like Mummy. But if I was Queen right now, I would like to wear Littlejan’s robe. The club still loves their marigolds.” Neither woman could speak in response, both overcome with recollection of the vivid Marigold Queen.  
“I’d like this one!” said Jantyjoy unexpectedly, who had been listening quietly to the conversation. She pointed to a bright purple zinnia.   
“Beautiful, Jantyjoy,” said Rosamund seriously, her eyes not quite dry. “You would be the Zinnia Queen, the only Queen whose flower starts with Z!”  
“Mother, may we look at the Book of Littlejan, please?” said Cecily. Janice had put The Book of Littlejan away, unable to bear to open it, or see it on a shelf. It had been lovingly and proudly prepared for her, so many years ago. Cecily and Jantyjoy had always delighted in the pictures of their big sister, and it was a favourite book. But Mother had not wanted to read it for a while.  
“I would love to look at it with you later,” said Rosamund, understanding. “Do you know that lots of the photos were taken at my big castle?”  
“I like the castle,” said Jantyjoy. “May we come and visit you again, please, Aunty Rosamund?”  
“What a good idea, Jantyjoy,” said Rosamund, smiling a question to Janice.  
“Perhaps that is just what we need,” said Janice. “Although I am not sure if she means Vairy or Kentisbury. She was such a little tiny when she first stayed at Kentisbury with you.”  
“Vairy! I remember Vairy. Let’s go, Mother,” shouted Jantyjoy, and the women both laughed aloud, for the first time in what seemed ages.   
“I wouldn’t mind seeing how the Women’s Defence Force are getting on, and seeing Isobel again. We could visit the boys at school,” said Janice.   
“Come home with me then, to Vairy,” said Rosamund. “But first, we have a crowning to go to. Girls, have we picked enough pansies?” And as Rosamund turned from the Herb Garden, she picked a slip of white yarrow flowers, and tucked them into her belt.   
As they walked through the Gatehouse garden, they passed Benedicta, working on a bed of lupins, pulling out the Shepherd’s Purse weed, which Damaris had so despised. “Here’s another bunch of pansies for the new Queen,” she called, handing them to Jantyjoy, who ran over to take them.   
Len Fraser was sitting on the red stones of the Wirral rockery, his stick beside him, talking quietly to Benedicta at her work, while John jumped from one stepping stone to another. He waved to Rosamund, with whom he had had a mutually comforting talk, both of them still experiencing deep grief at the loss of their loved one.   
“Is this Ambrose and Jehane all over again?” wondered Rosamund to herself. “If it is, I think it would be a very good thing, although this time I hope the romance can survive. They have both suffered so much and so young. If they can find happiness together, I hope we would all be very glad.” But Rosamund kept these new musings to herself. Time would tell, just as it healed, if healing were possible.


	45. The Queen of thoughts - May 1944

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, the familiar ritual of the May Queen crowning brings confidence and hope.

The pansies were needed for colourful posies, for this year, there was a Pansy Queen and her maid. A white robe with a rich purple lining had been made, the white outer side decorated with purple pansy shapes, with yellow centres, and clusters of green leaves scattered on the hem and sides of the robe.  
Together, Janice and Rosamund, with the two little girls, walked to the Manor, their hands full of pansies, to present them to the Queen elect, and to help make pansy bouquets, a large one for the Queen herself, and a small one for her maid of honour to wear tucked in her girdle.  
“Pansies remind me of my last days living at the Hall, and my new home at the Rose and Squirrel,” Rosamund said to Janice. “I particularly remember them from a difficult time I had. They remind me that things get better.”*  
There was celebration at the Manor, for the new Queen was Rosemary Marchwood, now nearly fifteen, who, as her mother had prophesied, was growing to be the beauty of the family, with soft dark hair, and a clear, beautiful complexion. Joan and Jen were with her, admiring her robe and plaiting her hair in a long single plait down her back, ready for the ceremony.  
“I remember my first procession,” said Rosemary, “when I was so shy that I could hardly talk to anyone. Mother bribed me with a kitten, to carry her train at Queen Jean’s crowning.”  
“It wasn’t a bribe, you naughty girl, just a gift,” remonstrated Jen, her eyes glowing at the sight of this first dark-haired daughter of the Marchwoods, in a white frock reaching to her ankles.  
“Well, whatever it was, I wouldn’t have gone in the procession unless I knew that kitten was coming,” retorted Rosemary.  
Rosamund and Janice smiled, not knowing this story. “You don’t seem so very shy now,” said Janice.  
“No, I should hope not,” said Rosemary. “When I went to school, I copied the Queens and tried to be friendly to people who didn’t know their way around, like Hermione. After that, I felt more confident. It got better as I got older.”  
“How are Madelon and Marie?” said Rosamund. She had not seen Biddy’s daughters yet on this visit.  
“Both well and happy,” said Jen. “You’ll see them shortly. They are at school, making final preparations. Henderson will pick them up soon.”  
“We love them,” said Rosemary simply. “They are so … French, and speak it beautifully. Everyone at school has a better French accent now, thanks to them. People are not so self-conscious about talking French anymore. Madelon and Marie make it seem so natural. They are also teaching me French cooking. Their school taught cooking to the girls, by a real French chef. I can make omelettes and crepes very well,” she finished proudly. “They started me with eggs, since we have plenty of them.”  
“That must be fun,” said Janice. “Are you still making jam?” Janice, devoting herself to caring for little John, and helping Len to come to terms with his loss, had absented herself from jam-making for the time being.  
“It’s just the start of the season now,” said Jen, “but the Fruit Preserving Society made a record amount last year. It’s quite a nation-wide tradition now. The Ministry of Food even gives us extra sugar in recognition.”  
“Who is to carry your train, Rosemary?” Rosamund asked, admiring the white train with its pansy decoration.  
Joan smiled, as Rosemary turned to Rosamund with a surprised expression. “Hasn’t Aunty Joan told you yet? It’s Jennifer!”  
“I thought you would like to tell Aunt Rosamund yourself, Rosemary,” said Joan. “Choosing your maid is a very special part of becoming Queen.”  
“I’m so glad,” said Rosamund. “Jennifer will be a beautiful maid for you. How lovely for her to join Joan and Jansy in the parade.”  
Madelon, the outgoing Queen, returned from making preparations at school for the crowning.  
“Bonjour, Madame la Comtesse,” she said to Rosamund, meeting her on the landing of the stairs as Rosamund prepared to leave for the Hall, where her little lavender bedroom was always waiting for her, to get ready for the coronation. No amount of effort on Rosamund’s part could convince Madelon to call her by anything other than the French term of respect. “Our Pansy Queen will be very fine, I think. Pansies, from pensée, for thoughts. Rosemary always thinks lovely thoughts.”  
“That’s a kind idea, Madelon, and very true. Have you enjoyed your year as Queen?” asked Rosamund.  
“Oh, yes, Madame,” said Madelon. “I was so surprised to be asked, and it was a very great honour. There was nothing like it at my school in Switzerland or France. I will always remember it as a special part of my life in England.”  
“And we will remember you as Queen,” said Rosamund. On impulse, she asked quietly, “Madelon, have you decided what to do about Littlejan’s crown? Will it be carried in the procession, or might that be too distressing for everyone?”  
“Aunt Jen and I have talked it over,” said Madelon in a soft voice, “and she discussed it with Madame President of the Hamlet Club, the Headmistress, and Aunt Janice. They feel it will be too sad to see in the procession, so the crown will be laid on a chair beneath her portrait in the hallway. We won’t carry the crowns of any other missing Queens in the procession either. That tradition dies too. Each Queen who is absent, for whatever reason, will have their crown below their portrait. That way, it will be just one of many.”  
“That’s a good idea,” said Rosamund in relief. “You can put my crown there too, please. I don’t think I will be Queen again for a long time, if at all.”  
“I am very sorry for your loss, Madame,” said Madelon shyly. Rosamund hugged the girl she had known for almost all of her young life, and then proceeded slowly downstairs.  
This year’s ceremony was always going to be more sombre than in previous years. Everyone knew it to be the first crowning that had followed either the death of a Queen, or of a Queen’s husband, and both had taken place in the last year. These thoughts were in most people’s minds as the procession of Queens entered, with sad gaps in continuity between Barbara and Jen, and Mirry and Jean. But the outgoing Queen, Madelon, the Columbine Queen, was roundly cheered, and the crown of forget-me-nots that Cissy placed on her head was no less thick than those of previous Queens. Rosamund, instead of taking part, sat with Janice and watched the ceremony for the first time in many years from the floor of the school hall, finding great enjoyment in the colours of the Queens and maids on the stage, with their bouquets of flowers.  
Perhaps for the very reason that there was a more muted atmosphere, everyone enthusiastically applauded the entrance of the new Queen. Rosemary, the Pansy Queen, held her head high, although she felt inwardly as nervous as she had at her first procession, nearly ten years ago. Jennifer, walking behind her, caught her mother’s eye and grinned, delighted to be joining Joan and Jansy, Joy, Elizabeth and Margaret on the platform already crowded with redheads. Never had Jennifer Raymond suffered from shyness.  
Jen brushed tears from her eyes, surprised at her own deep emotion at watching her white-clad daughter, in a white and purple robe, walk towards the stage. Jen had had to admit on more than one occasion that this daughter was the dearest of her children to her heart, and Kenneth’s, for on several occasions it had seemed her hold on life was threatened. Yet here she was, at fifteen, a new Abbey Queen, as the Queens from the Manor and Hall were collectively known.  
After the ceremony, Elizabeth and Margaret had to rush off, for, now both twenty-one, they had already nearly a year behind them as radio operators in the armed forces. With their beautifully modulated, clear voices, they had been obvious choices for this specialised task.  
“How proud you must be of the twins,” said Rosamund to Joy. “They didn’t hesitate to volunteer, did they?”  
“No,” said Joy, her eyes shining. “If we had let her, Margaret would have joined up at seventeen. But we wanted them to finish school, since they had started so late, and I think the extra maturity they gained has helped them to positions of trust quite quickly.”  
“Andrew and John Raymond are both in uniform, now too, of course,” said Jen to Rosamund. “While they were studying, they didn’t have to join up, but neither of them wanted to keep on at university while so many of their friends were going. They have yet to be posted overseas; I dread the thought of it, but I know they want to be part of it, wherever it takes them and whatever the cost.”  
Rosamund pressed her friend’s hand, which she held in hers. She had heard the tremble in Jen’s voice, for all her composure and straight stance.  
“So much has happened these last twelve months, and much of it unhappy,” said Rosamund. “We can’t know what the next twelve months will bring either, or the months after that. One day, surely, this war must end. And then, there will be new lives, and happiness, but always the shadow of more loss. I suppose that’s the way it has always been, and always will.”  
“Even at the Abbey, where we were so happy when we were young, there were the shadows of loss. Jehane and Ambrose, Aunty Shirley, Andrew, your parents, Jenny-Wren, and mine. Mary and Biddy’s brothers and parents. Maidlin’s parents, and dear old Ann Watson. Even the Abbey church. And now, the Pixie, and Littlejan, and … Geoffrey.”  
“We’ll face the future together, whatever comes, with the Abbey in the background. But, dear Rose-of-the-world, we must never forget that there had to be light before shadows,” said Jen, drawing Rosamund’s arm through her own. And, together, they turned to enjoy the merriment, sincere and joyful, of the dancing in honour of a new Hamlet Club Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * There are many references to pansies in “The Abbey Girls on Trial”.


End file.
